Don't Fret
by Elizabethlovestatu
Summary: Ilona Roche, a young contralto, daughter of a prostitute turned Madam, has become a star of the Paris Opera. Some say her mother is sending the best whores to satisfy the music directors, others say she whored herself out for them herself, while the most superstitious of the company have wondered if she was the mistress of the infamous Opera Ghost himself. She is the opera ghost's
1. Chapter 1

October 14, 1884

(9:00 pm)

"Pour une femme de mon nom," Ilona began to sing whilst surpression a yawn. "Quel temps hélas! le temps de guerre! Aux grandeurs on ne pense guère..."

Her day had been long, with Anna's sudden illness her understudy had been called in early in the afternoon rehearsals. The understudy did not know the part of Marie at all, the full performance had been nothing but a waste of time. They had run through the entirety of La fille du regiment of course, and as they prepared for tomorrow's opening night.

Ilona's voice dipped into a Bb2 as she sang the next scripted cadenza. Her voice had always been deep, even as a little girl in the chorus more often than not she was placed with the older boys in the chorus to prevent her from ruining the high melodic voices of the other girls and boys. Her mother had a low voice as well, a dramatic mezzo, meeting with her father's baritone, must have created her contralto voice.

"Stop, stop, stop!" Her father said slamming his thin hands down onto the organ's keys. "That was horrific, you have no passion. Where is your mind? I'll tell you where it's everywhere but here. Do I need to remind you of what you are working for?"

"No papa," He hated when she called him that, she was truly foolish to aggravate him. Though he hadn't raised a hand to her since she was 7 she knew very well he would strike her for her disobedience.

Instead of striking her as Ilona had half-expected he instead went about lecturing her on the importance of focus for the next ten minutes. During all that time Ilona did her best to pretend to listen while stifling another yawn from coming out of her mouth. She didn't need him lecturing her on the importance of sleep either.

"Your mother is letting you slack is she?" He asked suddenly crossing his arms and actually looking at her. "Does Erik need to make a visit?"

"No," Ilona said quickly. "It's my own fault. I've been staying up late working on my music. She's too busy with her whores at night anyway."

"Yes." He said tapping his foot to some unknown beat going through his head. "Well, what can you expect from a madam? Focused more on her whores than on her own daughter. It's just sad. You see Erik focuses on his daughter. Erik does what a father should by teaching his daughter the music she thrives upon."

Ilona simply nodded and hoped he would not go another spill of how he was good. He'd always gone off on his tangents, as he had gotten older they had seemingly become longer and longer, either that or Ilona's patience was failing her as she got older. She was not as foolish enough to think that her father was insane. His long tangents filled with the paranoid ramblings only a madman could conceive were enough to convince not only Ilona but her mother and poor Nadir as well.

She had taken a seat on the velvety cushions of the fainting couch that sat by the piano just in case she took her corseting and her singing too far. Ilona hadn't had an incident like that since she had been barely fifteen. Her mother's views on corseting were as can be expected for a prostitute, it should be worn at all times to accentuate the natural figure of a lady and to be more appealing to the male gaze. Her fathers were that of it being a useless garment that impeded lung capacity.

Ilona's person choice on the dastardly garment was to wear it but wear it loose enough as to not impede singing abilities. Some of the other singers followed this rule, Anna, for example, wore her's loose. While the screeching Carlotta seemed to just keep tightening hers, with any luck the woman's lungs would give out before her voice, if only. The brattish soprano was a terror to the Opera house, more so than her father's presence as the "Phantom of the Opera" as the ballet rats and stagehands called him.

Granted at least her father contributed something to the theater, while Carlotta spent her time wasting company time on having fits over nothing while the rest of the cast was just trying to get their work done. Her vocal abilities had never been strong or very good at all really, she had joined the company four years ago as a visiting performer from the Venice theater, she said she just fell in love with Paris that she had to move and perform in Paris.

Carlotta brought in record ticket sells for the Paris Opera, it was the only reason why anyone was willing to put up with that devilish woman. When ticket sales declined to her performances Ilona prayed that the woman would be reduced to smaller roles or fired. Whichever came first was fine with her and most of the other members of the Opera House.

"Are you still staying at the whore house?" Her father asked her suddenly dropping his lecture on the importance of focus.

He did it often, he could be talking about something with frustration just spilling out of his mouth and then with the next second he would be absolutely calm and discuss his fine collections or his newest composition. She had grown accustomed to it after so many years of studying under her father and by just being around him as his daughter.

"Yes," Ilona said, not particularly liking how he referred to her mother's apartment above the whore house as the actual whore house. "I'm thinking of purchasing an apartment down the street from the theatre. I already have the ideal living room planned out, a baby grand in one corner and a marble fireplace as the centerpiece of the room. Perhaps I'll even purchase one with two bedrooms, you can get out of this drafty cellar and not be but a few minutes walk from the Opera House."

Her father chuckled at the mention of him moving out of his little-hidden home underground to live in an above ground in sight apartment. She knew that he would never take her up on that offer. He had lived in the damned underground home since before she had been born, well not really before as the Garner had not been completed until a decade ago.

"I would sooner move in with the Daroga." Her father said with a soft chuckle of amusement added to his voice as his daughter seemed to actually be begging him for something. "Furthermore, I'm not sure of how your lover would feel of having the 'opera ghost' living with you."

"I don't have a lover," Ilona retorted and crossed her arms like a child.

"Ah, but on the contrary my dear," Her father held with an overly dramatic wave of his hand. "Your father is not stuck in this room. He has seen the way you and that young banking fellow interact."

Leon was hardly her lover, more of a companion in keeping her mother's business under wraps from tax collectors. He was a banker that was studying law, that held a soft spot for the whores of Paris. His own mother had been a whore and had neglected him due to her poor living conditions, he had done well for himself and was now looking to make the lives of the other children of whores better. He had already helped her mother set up a small area for the children of her mother's girls to go while their mothers were working and be cared for.

He was a kind soul, she could see herself marrying him if she wished to be married, or if he wished to marry her. If she were in the business of getting married that is. She was hardly an old maid in the world of theatre, at 19 she was nearly an old maid by the upper crust members of society but still a blushing maid by the theatre. Anna had only recently married and she was nearing 32.

Ilona had to be careful of course when describing Leon to her father, for all she knew her father could be planning on hanging the poor boy for some delusion her father held him. It was probably for the best that she kept her father away from the subject of Leon all together, not only for the sake of his insanity but for the safety of Leon.

"I don't have a lover, of that I can assure you," Ilona said hoping to change the subject as quickly as she could. "Monsieur Khan sent me flowers after today's dress rehearsals."

"The Daroga has always held a special place in his heart for you," Her father said turning back to face the piano probably to begin deconstructing her performance piece by piece. "Often I imagine that if he had kept you a secret you would have been better off with him as your father."

And now her father had reached the pity-stage of the night. Soon he would begin to cry and say that he did not deserve the small happiness that had been given to him. He would curse god for not making him a normal man. And would spend the rest of the evening in his bedroom with the door locked in his "bed" staring at the ceiling.

Ilona, though she had not spent too much time with her father as a child, knew his moods. As a child her mother had kept her away from him, and when she would visit it was highly supervised by both her mother and Monsieur Khan. As she had gotten older and her father had gotten used to the fact that he had a normal, happy child, she was allowed to spend time alone with him. Her lessons had begun though nearly the moment she could speak.

"You know very well I don't believe that," Ilona said while standing up from her seat on the fainting couch to stand next to her fitted father. "And you know well that I love you despite your constant lectures and your poor choices."

Her father sighed as if he were about to start crying, instead, he stood up from the piano bench and took Ilona into his arms in his best attempt at a hug. She simply smiled and held him back. She was lucky to get a hug from her father but every few months or so. She savored them when they came from him, even when they were awkward and lacked the warmth and feeling of the hugs she shared with her mother.

"Can you play my piece?" Ilona asked after her father had pulled away from her hug.

Even with the mask, she could tell he was smiling as he nodded his head and sat on the bench to begin playing one of the newest pieces he had dedicated to her. She sometimes wondered if she would be a feature character in any of his operas. She hoped to sing an aria composed by her father one day in front of a full theatre, not to the rats of the cellars.

Ilona sat back down on the fainting couch to truly experience the music. Closing her eyes she neglected to think that she might fall asleep with the fatigue she was experiencing.

October 15, 1884

(8:00 am)

Ilona awoke to find herself in just her undergarments and in the "guest" room of her father's cellar home. The Louis-Philippe Room was something of a mysterious second bedroom of her father's home, and she had dared not ask what the exact reasoning for having the room. She had slept enough in the room to know it was just a bedroom, perhaps it was her bedroom? Did her father want her living down in the cellars with him?

She shook her head and made her way out of the warm sheets of the comfy bed and into the average air of the room. Her thoughts of this being her room were washing over her as she turned to an open wardrobe filled with fine gowns all in her measurements as she looked through them. Selecting an eggplant colored day dress, Ilona began to dress in her corset and tie the bustle that had been placed on a chair the previous night around her waist.

The rather formal day dress was made of silk, it was ornate with purple flowers on the shirt and her blouse's collar. She hadn't had something so smooth on her body since the summer's fancy dress party hosted by the opera house. She remembered well she had dressed as the Queen of Hearts with actual playing cards sewn into the skirt of the dress.

Finishing buttoning up the blouse she checked herself in the mirror of the room. Her father hated mirrors, they reminded him of what Ilona could only surmise as for how hideous he was. If he was willing to have a mirror in his home, he really was opening himself up to her. More so than he had ever in the past. Imagine Nadir's face when she told him of the mirror in the room her father must have made for her.

Braiding her wavy auburn hair back into the bun it had been in the day before was quick work for Ilona. She wore her hair in the same style about every day. Going through the long process of braiding and foiling her hair into the intricate styles that the ladies of society did were a waste of time to those in the theatre.

Still wearing only her stockings she made her way out into the dark hallway of her father's home, the carpeted floor prevented her feet from meeting what could be assumed was stone beneath her feet. Making her way into the living area she found herself very much alone, the piano and organ sat undisturbed. He wouldn't leave her here by herself, even if one of the "intruders" had made their way underground he wouldn't leave her be.

"Papa!" Ilona called, hoping that using that title would bring him out from wherever it was he was hiding.

"What are you wearing?" Her father asked from seemingly beside her.

Ilona managed to stop herself from jumping at her father's surprising entrance. He stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, his body language reading his obvious displeasure with seeing her in the dress. Why would he be upset at what she was wearing? Had he not had this and the other dresses made for her? Had he wanted it to be a surprise and now was going to throw a tantrum for not getting to reveal it himself?

It wouldn't make sense for anything else. Did he think her mother was going to wear them? Her mother was most certainly not interested in whatever her father had to give her. From what she had overheard from Nadir, her mother had expected her father to marry her upon finding out she was pregnant, her mother had been of course foolish to think this and had instead had Ilona on her own and opened her own "house of ill-repute."

"I found it in the wardrobe in my bedroom," Ilona revealed hoping her father had not noticed the mumbled last bit of her statement.

Her father clenched and unclenched his fists, he let out a sigh of frustration before calming himself and stalking closer to Ilona. He grabbed her hand and led her into the kitchen, the darkened room smelled of fresh bread and cooked eggs. She sat down where she was instructed to at the kitchen table, not saying a word until he spoke first.

He went to the stove to retrieve the bread and eggs that sat on the counter. Placing them before her, Ilona had to school herself not to take anything until he sat down himself.

"What makes you think that that room is yours?" Her father asked finally taking his seat across from her.

Taking two of the croissants and a ladle full of the scrambled eggs, Ilona set them on her plate. Her wine glass was already filled with fresh orange juice. His position sitting down left Ilona great difficulty reading his body language. With the mask on reading him was nearly impossible, the only thing she could tell was the way his voice sounded curious that he was willing to listen to her.

"I have always slept in that room when I stay with you," Ilona muttered gently. "When I found the dresses in the wardrobe..."

"Just because you sleep there doesn't make it yours." Her father interrupted. "Sleeping in an abandoned building does not make the homeless man no longer homeless, it is simply his shelter. The Louis-Philippe room is only your shelter when you work up the courage to stay with Erik."

Ilona took another bite of one of the croissants. He was playing games with her, or at least that was all she could assume. She studied him intently hoping a wave of the hand would indicate his interest in playing a stupid game with her. His games were all the same, he'd open himself to her and before she could dig any further he'd shut himself off from her completely.

She was his daughter, she deserved to know more about him. She did.

"I'd hardly call visiting you is a frightening stay." She retorted, doing her best to school her tone to sound as neutral as possible.

"But you have not seen Erik's face." Her father said, evidently forgetting that she had in fact seen his deformed face.

He laughed his mad laugh before taking the black mask off his face, revealing the skeleton-like features she had seen so many times before. She felt like pissing him off and decided to just continue to eat while he made a display of himself.

She had seen the deformity on multiple occasions throughout her life, the first time being when her mother had yanked it off his face when she was a toddler. Her mother had experienced many deformed men through her experience of being a battle side prostitute during the American Civil War and the Franco-Prussian war. When met with seeing her daughter's father for the first time without a mask she was sickened yes, but no more so than her time with amputees and other injured veterans.

Growing up having seen her father without a mask on had been more of a curious experience for her than one of disgust. She wondered how he had something so horrible happen to him where the skin on his face had been left so thin, his lips near gone completely, and his eyes so sunken in. Had he been involved in a war? Perhaps, but the way Nadir had said he had been like that even when they met in the 50s.

"You think Erik would have his daughter live with him in this hell?" He railed beginning to pace back and forth, while Ilona continued to eat just to show she was not nearly as disgusted with his face as she thought. "I would face the devil himself if it saved you from his venomous grasp."

He continued to rant and rave at what he would do to save her from whatever madness he could come up with. He often spoke of himself as the devil coming to claim Persephone from Demeter to keep her in the underworld for a few moments of light in the world of the dead.

"If I were a normal man," He muttered, barely above a whisper as he sat himself down in one of the dining room chairs. "If I had a handsome face. I'd have a fine house in the most fashionable part of Paris, music ever flowing from within and out onto the streets. I'd have a wife to take out on Sundays and keep entertained with our music on the weekdays. We'd have a few handsome children to keep us young while teaching them all we knew."

Her papa began to weep as he placed his head in his palms. As she had learned through his ever changing moods, he would either continue to weep until she said something or immediately begin his ravings once more. Ilona kept her distance until the time she thought would have allowed his mood to shift back into the rage before going to comfort him.

"But you could have that," Ilona tread carefully. "I'll purchase a home and we can do all you said. We can go for walks in the park on Sundays and play music all hours of the day and night."

His sobbing ended with a mad chuckle erupting from within his chest. His face morphed into what could be described as a smile on a skull.

"You are a truly kind young woman for your tolerance for an old man's wishes." He said that smile-like expression still on his face. "You see I know I shall never have these things. I will never walk amongst the common man with a lovely woman on my arm. I will never have any of the things an ordinary man will have. I have accepted my fate to live and die in these cellars."

"But you don't have to!" Ilona said quickly taking one of her father's gloved, but still bone, hands. "You can come up to the light with me. I can buy a house, we could go for walks, and we could fill the streets of Paris with music. These don't have to be fantasies."

Ilona smiled when her father seemed to be contemplating her offer. She was sure she could deal with him on a daily basis if he were above ground. She could even have Nadir move in with them, he could handle her father while she was away at the opera. She'd be subject to rumor for her living with an older foreigner but that was hardly the worst of the gossip about her.

She'd purchase a fine home with space for a grand piano, maybe even an organ if her father wanted one. Did she have the money currently for that home? No, but she was sure Nadir and her father would be willing to pitch in funds towards the purchase of a home that would get her father out of the cellars and into the light of day. It could all be so simple.

If only it were as simple as she imagined.

"Ilona," Her papa began not even bothering to look at her. "I am not meant for this world. I am not meant for any world but here."

Ilona's eyes watered slightly, she had never thought she would be crying over her father's refusal for happiness. She did her best to keep her face as neutral as possible, keeping the tears from overflowing the dam she had in place. She wanted him to be happy, he deserved to be happy, yes he was a madman who had done horrors that she could only imagine, but he needed to be happy. He needed to feel loved every day, not just on days when she met him for lectures.

"Papa," Ilona mumbled squeezing his hand. "Please."

"No!" He shouted shooting straight up from his chair. "This is the end of this conversation. Now leave Erik to his peace! Leave!"

Ilona said nothing more just did as she was told. She held her tears back for as long as she could whilst grabbing her things and running out of the underground home and back towards the entrance to the tunnels that was in her dressing room. Shutting the mirror behind her she finally allowed the tears she had been holding back flow.

She just wanted her papa to be happy. Was that too much? She wanted to be a normal girl for once. She wanted to go home to both her mama and her papa living in the same house happily together as a family. She wanted to sit down for an evening meal not with just her mother and occasionally a few of the whores in the whorehouse, she wanted it to be with her mama and papa, maybe even with Nadir as a frequent dinner guest.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that the other girls in the world got two parents that loved her with all their heart's and maybe even loved each other. She wanted her papa to walk her down the aisle at her wedding, she wanted her mother to wear one of those hideous gowns mothers of the brides wore. With her mother crying as she saw her walk down the aisle in a beautiful gown with her papa by her mother's side as they watched their daughter get married.

"It isn't fair," Ilona yelled taking the nearest object in her hand and slamming it at the mirror.

The bottle of perfume busted upon impact with the mirror. She did nothing to pick up the fallen pieces of glass on the floor. The room smelt like a florist shop. Ilona just resigned herself to getting out of this damned opera house.


	2. Chapter 2

Paris, France

October 15, 1884

(7:30 pm)

"Have you heard the rumor of the Austrians performing the entirety of Der Ring des Nibelungen in one night?" A well-made up Henri Dessay whispered as they prepared for the music of their opening to begin. "That had to have been an event! Imagine performing that!"

Ilona was experiencing the fit of agitation that always yelled at her before going on stage. She had been on the stage since she was a little girl and yet each time she walked out into the bright gas lights of the stage she felt as if she were going to faint.

Her anxiety was made worse by this morning's confrontation with her father. Having had to go directly to morning warm-ups and rehearsals she had been left with no time but to eat a late lunch instead of going home to her mother and cry like the little girl she felt she was.

Instead, here she was experiencing a panic attack for her father's rejection.

When she returned home that evening, oh the story she had to tell her mother. And her mother would simply say she was foolish to expect anything out of the madman aside from teaching. If she told Monsieur Khan of what had happened Nadir would surely tell her father that she was upset with him and that would only leave both herself and her father in another awkward conversation.

It was best she just waited patiently for her father to resume their lessons without her igniting anything flammable.

"That's impossible." Ilona giggled in an effort to lighten her mood. "The whole Ring cycle is over 15 hours long! Who told you that? Jurgen? That man believes the ghost story too. Do you honestly think he could be that reliable?"

The moment Henri shut his mouth was evidence he had listened to that fool Jurgen, an Austrian baritone with nothing better to do but run his mouth. Henri was a gullible fool if he truly believed anything that Austrian had to say. Among the group that made up the most rumors about her father, Jurgen and Bouquet were the two most notorious. The fools would do themselves a favor if they kept their mouths shut.

"He was right about the opera ghost!" Henri whispered as the orchestra began their warm-up.

"What did you see the ghost himself?" Ilona asked now concerned for her partner's safety. "Does he have the fire eyes? Or does he have no eyes? I can't keep track of what his eyes look like with so many stories flying around."

"You don't believe me because you're an atheist," Henri muttered as he crossed his arms.

"Yes, I'm quite sure if I was Christian I would surely believe in the foolishness that was Monsieur Bouquet's wild drug induced dreams."

"I saw him, Ilona!"

"Saw who?"

"The opera ghost!"

"Don't shout you fool."

Henri looked out onto the stage as Ilona did, waiting for their queue. It would not be but a few bars away. The chorus was performing their act as the scared villagers whilst the ballet girls danced around them in fright. The whole stage was alight with activity and the brightly colored costumes of the chorus and ballet.

"I saw him, Ilona," Henri said once more, now using the whispers acceptable backstage. "I saw everything Bouquet described. The death's head, the golden eyes like a cat, no nose, the smell of death! I saw him, standing before me as I made my way down to costuming. He was standing in the same distance between you and me!"

Had he truly seen her father? She wouldn't put it past him to scare the foolish bass into performing at his best when he was starring alongside Ilona. Had he calmed down since last night then? To care for her enough to frighten someone before a performance with her. But what if Henri was dreaming, had he had a nightmare in which he had thought he had seen the ghost of him? Or had Henri gone mad?

Ilona opened her mouth to reply, instead of words coming out she heard her queue and quickly rushed onto the stage with her bags. Her gray wig's hair flying as she walked onto the stage. Her character replacing the nervous girl that was there before, now she became an old woman with money and confidence.

Henri and Ilona performed the near fainting scene of the Marquise and her faithful butler with ease. The chorus crowding around them in the choreographed fashion that had been performed so many times. The ballet dancers in the back reflected the uncertain atmosphere of the fearful villagers awaiting invasion by Napoleon and his forces. Instead of the horrors of Napoleon they were met with the news of the French retreat.

Ilona did as Carlotta often did, her styling for the character of the Marquise directly related to the horrid manners of Carlotta. She waltzed around stage preparing herself for her aria that came soon after. She looked to Henri with exaggerated disgust as he attempted to embrace her in joy, instead, she handed him one of her bags.

"Pour une femme de mon nom," Ilona began with the music change. "Quel temps hélas! le temps de guerre! Aux grandeurs on ne pense guère. Rien n'est sacré pour le canon!"

With her dip into Bb2 on the word "canon", she was awarded applause from those in attendance, as she should. She longed to hear the crowd's approval. She needed their approval truly for her career to continue. She needed the crowd's approval to earn the approval of her father. He would often say the audience had no idea what the true beauty of music is, and in fact, they are just blind followers of what the critics tell them to enjoy. And yet, his approval was tied to the uneducated audience's approval. The hypocrite.

"No respect!" Ilona and ended with the chorus's accompaniment a cadenza reaching to her near limits of F5 with an E5 held out long and proud.

The cheers from the crowd were loud and clear of their approval of her. Now if only their praise could drown her to avoid a confrontation with her father for longer.

(10:00 pm)

"Mademoiselle Roche!" A patron or admirer called out welding a bouquet flower in his arms. "Mademoiselle Roche!"

Ilona simply smiled and accepted the flowers from the eager admirer. Turning away from her admirers Ilona unlocked her dressing room door and quickly made her way inside. She had had a long day. The performance of Un Fille du Regiment had gone off without a hitch. She was sure though her father would have many notes for her on what she could improve, Monsieur Reyer would hardly have but a few pages, her father may very well have a novel written just for the first scene.

Locking the door back, she threw off the horrid gray wig she had to wear for the past week. She hated the damned thing, she hated wearing wigs. Not only was the costume hot and uncomfortable, the wigs were itchy and too tight on her scalp. There were times backstage where she would take a finger and quickly go beneath the wig and scratch the unnerving itch.

The stage lights were nothing better. Parading around in hot, but beautifully intricate, costumes was a living hell. Not to mention how often she felt her dress slipping off of her body during the performance. The character of the marquise was supposed to be an older, heavier set woman, the costuming was therefore made to look as though Ilona weighed one-hundred pounds more and aged another 40 years.

Ilona wasted no time in undressing herself from her costume. She was not going to wait for the costume department to send her usual dresser, heaven knew if that woman would actually show up before midnight. The costume off meant for this moment Ilona was free for her skin to breath and her body temperature to venture back into the normal range.

Without bothering to put on a robe Ilona went to her washing area to begin the process of removing the greasepaint and rouge applied to her face. She enjoyed putting the make-up on, she did not like taking it off. She understood now why make-up had fallen out of fashion for the women of the society. It was far too complicated for those hard working ladies to clean off themselves.

Rubbing her face and neck with a towel dried her of the water and leftover soap from her cleaning. She would take an actual bath tomorrow morning when she was home with her mother, instead of doing the usual bathing small places while standing technique.

A knock sounded at her door before she could even set her towel down. It was probably an admirer that had no business being this far into the backstage area. Or was it a fellow company member inviting her to celebrate opening night? She had never been to the Opera House's notorious opening night parties, she had heard three ballet rats had ended up in the family way from the last party.

Wrapping the white robe around herself to preserve her modesty as best she could, she went to the door to open it. She was the daughter of a whore, yes, but that did not mean that she should retain a certain level of modesty within the theatre.

"Leon," Ilona muttered as she saw her friend standing before her in a fine evening suit.

He must have attended the show! Oh, he shouldn't be wasting his time on frivolous things like the opera. He had work to be done, not only for his education but for his career. She supposed everyone needed a true break from time to time. She herself would enjoy a few days off from the hard work of strutting around the stage.

Waving him inside, Ilona shut the door behind him and directed him to take a seat on her small velvet couch. She went to sit across from him on her vanity's seat.

"You were amazing Ilona," Leon said as she sat before him, his smile evidence enough of his approval of her performance. "I can't believe they have you playing an old woman with a voice as pure as yours."

Ilona smiled and shook her head. "They never do have any good roles for girls with deep voices."

"I suppose I'll just have to learn to compose." Leon chuckled. "I believe you'll just need to help me learn everything about music theory first."

Ilona laughed. She would be willing to teach him of course, though his interests were more in the realm of law and order rather than harmony. He shared with her common favorite composers, though Leon would often refer to them as "the Russian composer" or "the mad German man." He could do with learning more about the music of the upper class if he is to truly mingle with them in talks of reform.

Reforming the minds of the influential when it came to child labor was simple... however, prostitution was something that they pretended didn't exist even if half the men sought the services of a prostitute at least once in their lifetimes. The temptation of the flesh was something no mortal man or woman could resist, no matter how strict society was against anything relating to sex.

She could just see the looks on the faces of some of the older patrons that came to the opera upon learning of what their sons' were doing outside of being out with friends or at work. Their little perfect world of etiquette ruined by the natural cravings of young men and women. If she did not see it in her life, she hoped that in the next people would be more open towards the idea of their sexuality.

"Law school has been very interesting as of late." Leon began. "I sat in on a case involving a wealthy Englishman accused of kidnapping, rape, and murder of three French prostitutes. It was the saddest thing in the world, the judge hardly gave the case a second glance when he ruled in favor of the Englishman."

"It's to be expected," Ilona sighed imagining her mother's face upon hearing the ruling. "They don't believe prostitutes exist, and those that do prefer to not think of them as human beings. They are but the causes of social ills, not true women."

"I know," Leon said taking a look around her dressing room. "Do you think they'll give you a bigger one of these? Less drafty?"

Ilona went along with the change of subject. In truth, she would rather not discuss prostitutes on a night of success for her career. She had hoped to just go home now it seemed she were on a set course for supper at Leon's favorite restaurant. The little cafe, that catered to many of the performers of the Palais Garner, had become a recent success with the patrons of the opera house as well as the cast. The little cafe that had once been a go to shop for a coffee and pastry, had become a full-scale restaurant within less than a year.

"Where does the blasted draft even come from?" Leon asked standing and began looking around the room. "The mirror?"

Ilona laughed a nervous laugh. The mirror was held shut by a locking mechanism that prevents those on the outside getting in, of course, there was a way to get in, but you had to be in the know to open it. She had learned of her father's little mirror trick in her dressing room shortly after she had been granted the dressing room. Nadir had said to her once when she remarked on how there was a two-way mirror in her room that her father had many of them positioned throughout the opera house.

Nadir did not even truly know how many mirrors there are, how many entrances into the actual sewers there were, to begin with. She knew very well to not go looking for them. She had heard enough stories from Monsieur Khan of the poor souls that had accidentally wandered into the sewers... It was best she leave those thoughts of horror alone.

"Why are there shards of glass on the floor?" Leon asked upon reaching the mirror. Bending down he took a shard of the former perfume bottle she had thrown at the wall in anger that morning. He looked at her with slight concern, he had nothing to be concerned for. She had been an angry girl and had taken that anger out on the nearest breakable object, the perfume bottle.

Leon didn't bother waiting for a reply from Ilona, instead probably talking himself into a fit of how much of a diva Ilona was becoming to throw things when she didn't get her way. He would have no idea why she had thrown it but would be able to guess it was a little tantrum.

His gaze locked on the mirror. "There's something behind the mirror!" He exclaimed.

"Of course there is," Ilona said with a giggle, now walking towards her friend. "The wall."

"No," Leon said looking admittedly at the mirror. "I saw something... A figure."

Ilona kept a smile on her face as she acted as if her friend was playing a game with her. "Is it a handsome young ladies figure?" Ilona said.

Ilona saw nothing in the mirror as she approached it. She had not much done anything to train herself to see behind the two-way glass, but she knew that if her father was that foolish to come to the mirror he would stay back far enough for Leon to not see. Her father was always a fool of course, now came the moment where she back Leon away from the mirror and got him to discuss dinner.

"How can you not see it?" Leon asserted pointing to where he thought the figure was located. "It's right there!"

"I see nothing Leon," She reassured him as she took his arm within hers and lead him back to the vanity. "I do believe you have spent far too long indoors. Fresh air will do you some good, we'll walk to the White Horse then."

Leon just stared at her as if she had been the one to go mad not him. He would have to think her mad if it meant protecting him from whatever could happen to him if he kept being noisy, it was worth it.

Ilona went behind the dressing divider to begin dressing in an appropriate dinner dress for the White Horse. It was a "casual" restaurant, which meant not full evening wear, but you should come dressed in your best anyway. No one knew who could be there. The Prime Minister himself could be dining at the establishment tonight.

As selected she donned a maroon gown with black tassels as intrigue designs. It was not in fashion at the moment, but it was hardly expected of an opera star to don this year's latest trends. The diva could truly wear what she wanted out if she were not in fear of her career tanking. Carlotta often went out with her mother in intrigue pigeon-like gowns or wear gowns with trains of cathedral length to tea.

Stepping out from behind the divider she found Leon looking intently at the mirror. His reaction judging by his reflection was a pure fright. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. Had he been so foolish as to go up to the mirror once more? Had her father been foolish enough to scare the law student? Her father had his ways with alluding the ears of others and only communicating with one individual whilst a room full of people hear nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Ilona made her way to her vanity. Taking the down the ballet bun that held her hair in place while wearing the wig, Ilona focused for that moment on thinking of what to say to any of his possible questions. He said nothing, even when she called his name he didn't respond. It didn't even look as though he could hear her.

Not bothering with her hair for that moment she got up from the vanity and approached Leon from behind. Hoping not to frighten him she lightly tapped his shoulder; there was no response.

"Léon?" Ilona said stepping in front of him, blocking his view of the mirror. "Leon!"

He shouted at her suddenly, frightening her so much she thought she nearly shattered the mirror with the force of her jump back. The fool had been playing a joke on her. The dumb man had thought her to be one of the superstitious fools of the opera house that believed the phantom of the opera was real. She was hardly amused as he began to laugh at her whilst begging for her apology.

"You scared the living hell out of me." Ilona managed to do her best to keep her eyes straight as she looked nervously back to the still intact mirror. "Don't you ever do that again!"

Léon said nothing in return and just stepped back laughing, retaking a seat on her small couch whilst she went about lecturing him on the horrors of scaring a lady. She had truly believed that he was seeing her father in the mirror threatening him with death if he so much as hurt her. Not only had she been stupid to think that her father would be that protective of her, she was also foolish to think her father would have bothered to talk to her after her performance.

He was probably still sulking in his lair over what he had done this morning. He would not have bothered to go above ground to watch her, he would have remained in that damned cellar and not give a damn if she succeeded or not.

Dividing and braiding her hair into fourths and tying it back in a braided bun took her longer with her added frustration not only towards Leon and her father but to herself for being foolish enough to believe her father would have bothered. That damned man what better things did he have to do than to be there for her? His music? She was his muse. He had said so on many an occasion to Nadir in her childhood and into her adolescence, he needed her to write music. He should do nothing but praises her for her willingness to obey to his teachings.

Did he have another daughter somewhere dividing his attention? No, she was becoming just as paranoid as her father. She was better than him. She was not mad like him, she was sane and beautiful.

"You are paying for anything I order this evening," Ilona said at last standing from her vanity. "That includes caviar and whatever pastry I choose."

"I'm sorry Ilona," He professed, hardly being sincere about it. "You theatre folk are all so superstitious, all I've heard from the rumor mill here is the opera ghost."

"The opera ghost isn't real." Ilona retorted harsher than she had meant to. "If he did I doubt he would care for any of us here."

(11:30 pm)

"You are Ilona Roche?" A young woman with broken French asked approaching the table where she and Léon sat. "I have a big fan. I see you tonight and you so good. So better than my cousin Agnes says."

Ilona had just taken a bit of her second course of roasted duck with assorted vegetables when the blonde teenager came up to her looking wide-eyed and friendly. The girl seemed to be Nordic or at least German by the looks of her and her accent. Ilona had smiled at her of course and been as friendly as she could with the girl.

Léon seemed hardly bothered by the young woman that had approached their table. He was always patient when they were out with those that would approach her out of recognition. She often wondered if he were scouting for potential wives to advance his position into the uppercuts of society. She knew very well that if he got a wife with an influential, and open-minded, father he could do well to influence the rest of the upper class to accept uncomfortable ideas.

Truly she didn't think he could get married to a woman above a middle-class position. Perhaps he could get a wife, the daughter of an influential captain or policeman? She doubted the police chief would have his daughter married to a lawyer that defended prostitutes.

"Thank you very much," Ilona said smiling after swallowing her hardly chewed duck. "It is always so nice to see my fans outside of the opera house."

The girl looked as though she barely understood a word that came out of Ilona's mouth. She just smiled and practically skipped back to her table somewhere on the other side of the restaurant by the looks of the walk she took. Cute little thing, she hoped she got her father to donate some money to the opera before heading back to whatever Nordic froze wasteland she had come from.

"Do you know who that was?" Léon asked looking in the direction of where the girl had run off to.

"No," Ilona said. "She seems to be a fan of mine."

"That would be the Norwegian Ambassador's youngest daughter." He said with a smile on his face suddenly. "Her father is well known around Paris as a frequent of many brothels."

Ilona thought back to some of her mother's johns. Her mother no longer slept with any of the men, she was strictly in the business of being a madam now. Thinking back to some of the men that had come to the whore house for the girls, she did not recognize him. She was very rarely allowed downstairs, only in cases when she was little and a few of the whores would babysit her or when she took care of the children of the whores.

"I don't believe I've seen him at my mother's establishment," Ilona said imagining a stereotypical Norseman with a long blond beard and beefy exterior. "Then again, I don't believe I've ever heard of the Norwegian ambassador."

Léon looked up at her from his plate with a smile, reaching out for his glass of wine. He took a slow sip of the fine French red before opening his mouth to speak.

"My mother believes him to be my father." Léon laughed, making Ilona smile.

"You don't look very Viking-like," Ilona said with a smile encouraging him to be open with her about his mother, he hardly ever was outside of speaking of the few fond memories he had of her.

"I said the same thing." He said making a show of grabbing a lock of his dirty blond hair. "I don't believe the Viking genes have set in yet. I will be sure to call on you when the full beard finally grows."

Ilona laughed, imagining him with a full Viking beard like she had seen in the many operas describing Norse legends. She knew they were inaccurate but it was more fun to think that every man from Scandinavia was a bearded, blond haired brute. Besides, there was a certain level of romance when thinking of a handsome Viking taking a capture of the beautiful French maidens and making them their wives.

She didn't really want to imagine Léon with anything more than the goatee he had grown many months ago. He would look ridiculous like one of those older gentlemen that were often handed with Carlotta after a performance.

"I'm sure your mother has entertained you with stories of your conception as well," Léon said leaving his intention of getting her to tell him who she thought her father was.

Unlike with many whore's children, she knew who her father was. Was it a good or a bad thing that she knew was the question? She was glad she knew him now, but perhaps her life would have turned out for the best if he had never come forward. Her mother had seemed content enough without him, she had told her when she was old enough for the "special talk" that the only reason she had even bothered staying with him for a week was because she thought she could convince him to marry her.

As her mother was a beautiful woman willing to sleep with a man as revoltingly ugly as her father, she had guessed he would. She had not known of course she'd end up knocked up with the madman's child for a while later. And when she had managed to track him down, via a rather adamant Nadir she had decided she was not going to deal with the madness of the opera ghost and raise their child on her own. But of course, Nadir had stepped in to remedy relations enough to where she knew her father.

"Oh yes," Ilona laughed. "The Phantom of the opera is my father."

Léon chuckled at her telling of the truth. "Your mother would have your tongue cut out for that."

"I doubt that," Ilona said taking a sip of her wine. "Besides, who else is going to bring in the francs for her wardrobe?"


	3. Chapter 3

October 16, 1884

(8:00 am)

"Where the hell were you yesterday?" Her mother inquired with that tone that meant she was on the verge of screaming. "I raised you better than to sleep with one of your patrons!"

Ilona sat at the breakfast table in her and her mother's shared apartment above the whore house, barely managing to keep her head up as last night had proved to be a difficult night for sleep. She would not dare sleep with one of the patrons of the opera. She was a virgin, shocking to say the least of the daughter of a whore, but it was true, she had never been with a man in any way.

She could be called one of the most virtuous women in the Paris Opera House. Ilona believed in waiting until one was truly in love with a person before hopping into bed with them, love comes first. She supposed she was a foolish romantic in that sense, waiting until she found her true love before giving herself wholly to that person.

Her mother would just pat her on the head and tell her she is a sweet little girl. Nadir would proclaim her a saint amongst the filth that avenged the opera house. She dared not imagine what her father would think, the man would either go into a catatonic state or worse not believe her and murder whoever he thought she had slept with.

Thinking of her father in any sense made her just want to bury herself back into bed. He would surely have left her notes in her dressing room by now waiting to be opened when she finally forced herself to go to rehearsal. What if he was waiting for her in her dressing room right now? He'd probably cry whilst begging her for forgiveness over his silly actions... Or he wouldn't remember his belligerent state and just go about his usual critiques of her performance.

If she were a foolish girl she would have him condemned to an asylum, but she was no fool. She knew very well what would happen if she sent him there. Those animals would have a time with degrading him, making him their little show piece. No, she would not have her papa in an asylum. She would have him at home with her.

If only.

"Rehearsal ran late on Thursday," Ilona began, doing her best to sound sincere. "I felt far too tired to be making the journey back home in the middle of the night, so I slept in my dressing room. I slept past noon yesterday and I had rehearsal at one o'clock. I could not just grab a coach and head here for five minutes to explain my absence, instead, I stayed and hoped you would not deem me a whore."

Her mother's lips drew thin. She knew Ilona was lying, but now she was making the decision to ask if she was with her father or not? Her mother was a smart woman, how else could she single-handily manage a whore house and raise a rising prima donna. Now came the time to see her decision, opening her mouth as if to speak her mother shut it again quickly.

Ilona said nothing, just focused once more on staying awake. The smell of ham and eggs filled the room as her mother went back to cooking breakfast.

"I can't understand you sometimes Ilona." Her mother muttered.

"I'm sorry," Ilona said.

"It's not your fault." Her mother said approaching the table with fresh eggs on a plate. "If it's anyone's fault it's mine."

Spooning out the eggs onto Ilona's plate, her mother patted her head as she had done when she was small. Ilona took the first bite of the eggs, always too salty. Her mother said it was because she was too French for her own good, instead of being a strong American woman like her. Apparently, that meant that she had to like a tablespoon of salt doused on her eggs.

"I should have just kept you to myself." Her mother said taking a mouthful of ham and egg in.

"I'm glad you didn't," Ilona admitted, not only to her mother but reaffirming her own thoughts. "Music is my life, without papa I fear I would never have truly grown into the woman I am now. Imagine me without my music? You can't can you? Imagine the world with me in it without the knowledge and tutelage I have now?"

Her mother did not say another word to her before Ilona left for rehearsals. It was best left unsaid if she had anything to say. Ilona loved her mother dearly, she loved her mother more than she would ever love her father. But just because she loved her mother more did not mean that her father did not hold a special place in the heart. And she would defend that man, while criticizing him, to her death. He was her papa, and through his flaws she still loved him.

They ate their breakfast in silence. Ilona not daring to say anything that would get a rise out of her mother. She would rather not have a long drawn out argument.

A knock at the door sounded as Ilona began to wash her breakfast plate in the sink. Her mother got up from her seat to get the door. It was probably one of her girls coming to bring in last night's earnings report. Typically the girls brought in an average of 5,000 francs a night, sometimes more, sometimes less, it depended on upon who was in town for the girl's services. Ilona knew very well that they always had an influx in customers after any premiere at the opera.

"Monsieur Khan?" Her mother said in what was a hopefully pleasant shock.

"May I come in Madame?" Nadir asked bowing slightly at the woman still dressed in her night clothes.

"Nadir!" Ilona called from the kitchen looking towards the side entrance to their apartment.

She has dressed already, she could receive her guest much better than her mother could. Her day dress was a silk and velvet blue bustle with a floral design steaming from the bodice to the front of the skirt. It had been a gift from Monsieur Khan himself. He had always been so very kind to her, always presenting her with gifts and tales of his homeland. Often when her mother was not around and she was not permitted around her father, she stayed with Monsieur Khan.

He had been a second father to her, more so a father to her than her actual father truly. It wasn't her own father's fault that Nadir had taken the role of the father over for her, he was just too unstable to be around children. Even now her father struggled to be around her for too long, as evidence of what had happened the day before.

Nadir met her in an embrace in the dining room. He smelled of his usual cigars and coffee. He still had on his coat as she smiled led him into the living room where they could sit and chat. She could never understand how that man could possibly be cold in sixty-degree temperatures, he'd lived in Paris since the early-60s, had the man not grown used to the climate of Paris? Her mother had and she lived in just as warm temperatures in Charleston.

She took his coat and placed it delicately on an empty chair to remind herself that she needed to put it away when their conversation came to a close. Nadir had sat himself down on the recently upholstered pink couch, he looked ridiculous on the pink monstrosity that was the new fabric that her mother had selected for the couch. She took a seat beside him doing her best to not mention how silly he looked next to pink.

"What brings you here?" Ilona asked still smiling as Nadir finally seemed to notice the new couch fabric. "Are you going to be attending the show tonight? I know you can't possibly attend every opera I'm in but I would love to have you at least one."

Nadir kept smiling and nodded his head. "Of course I will be watching tonight."

"Wonderful!" Ilona said clapping her hands. "Where will you be sitting? Did you say your name to Thomas at the ticket office? I've got a deal with the managers now where if you or mother would like to see a show you can get 50% off your cost of admission or upgraded seats. Oh! I forgot to ask you if you wanted tea."

"I'll be sitting in row C this evening, towards the center," He mentioned whilst Ilona had already gone back to the kitchen to put a kettle on the stove. "Do you perhaps have any Jasmine?"

"Oh yes," Ilona said looking through the box of tea packets she had on hand. "Would you like it green tea based or black?"

Her mother came in from behind her, nearly causing in Ilona to drop the bag of dried tea leaves and jasmine petals onto the floor. "I'm needed downstairs." She said plainly. "Please let me know when you're leaving."

"I will." Ilona sighed as her mother pulled her in for a hug.

Her mother went back to her bedroom to dress and ready herself for whatever her girls had to tell her. She was a kind mother, and a compassionate businesswoman, but sometimes she really could be a tyrant. Ilona had not personally seen her mother react in such rage since she was a child, but she knew just from hearing the whores downstairs that her mother went off on a trade at least once a month.

Ilona could only hope she would not be on the other end of one anytime soon. She counted herself amongst the luckiest stars this morning for avoiding her mother's condemnation at breakfast.

With the water boiled Ilona took the kettle off the stove carefully before placing it and two tea cups on the silver tea platter. She was a good hostess, or at least she did her best. Nadir would hardly care if she had forgotten or not, he was not near as strict as her mother would have been about her poor manners. Nadir himself, was still not proficient in Parisian etiquette.

"We are apparently out of white tea," Ilona said setting the platter down on the coffee table, just within reach of herself to begin the process of fixing it. "I hope you won't mind a green tea base."

"I don't wish to beat around the bush about this Ilona," Nadir said, moving cautiously on his metaphor as if he thought he was using it incorrectly. "But I spoke to your father last night."

Ilona bit her lip as she poured the hot water over the bag of dried leaves and flowers. Nadir never was one to "beat around the bush" about her father, even when she was younger and she was told of some of the horrors that he had committed at the opera house, he had chatted with her pleasantly before telling her of the crime. Granted she received the very censored version of the chaos her father unleashed at her school and place of employment.

"He tore apart his study once again," Nadir explained. "I found him intoxicated off what I can only assume was morphine sobbing over his torn sheet music. I did my best with getting him to explain what had gone wrong and I got nothing but the babble of you storming off and leaving him forever."

Ilona stopped her stirring and sighed deeply. She was going to be late for rehearsal. She could always use the excuse of sleeping too late... Probably not. If she were more of a fool she could always say that she had family matters to attend to. She was not that much a fool.

Hearing the front door shut signaling her mother had left the house leaving Ilona and Nadir to themselves, she could finally open up about what had happened.

"I had come down for my usual lesson." Ilona began placing her tea down knowing very well she was not going to be sipping tea easily with Nadir this morning. "It had all gone fine. I was very tired. He told me that I lack passion and began to try to pull mother into the argument. I did my best to remind him it was my fault. And I was foolish enough to tell him that I wanted to purchase an apartment so he and I could live together above ground.

"He dismissed it entirely and I just asked him to play that piece, you know the one he composed just for me?" Nadir nodded and Ilona continued. "I fell asleep, it had been a long day of rehearsals and I could hardly keep myself from nodding off. When I awoke I was in the Louis-Philippe room, I was tucked in like he used to do for when I took naps in the room. I had a stupid thought cross my mind that he wanted me to live with him in the cellars and that if he wanted to live with me then he might want a chance to live above ground with me.

"I was a fool enough to even put on a dress that I'd found in the wardrobe I'd thought to be mine. When I tried to find him after leaving the room, he asked me why I was wearing the dress. And I told him because it was my room and therefore my dress, he lashed out, saying it wasn't my dress or my room. He... He took off his mask thinking I'd never seen his face before, thinking for some reason that I would be frightened."

Ilona quickly wiped the tears welling up in her eyes as she recalled her father's madness once more. She was crying over nothing truly, he had always been like this, so two sided, so moody, and just not sane. She knew better than to cry over nothing. She knew better, she was a big girl and she was crying over her papa not wanting to be with her like an idiotic child.

Nadir took her hand in his letting her know he was there and willing to listen. He knew what she felt, not that he could feel like he was losing his father to the illness of the mind. He just knew what it was like to see a friend fall into this fit, had her father ever been sane, though? No, not from the stories Nadir had often told her of their time in Persia. He had always been mad and it seemed as he grew older the madness grew as well.

How she prayed he would not live long enough for the disease to destroy his mind completely. Could she really wish her father dead? No, it was cruel. It was beyond cruel it was, it was unnatural to wish a parent dead. No matter their suffering a child had a right to see their parents through to the end, not wish for a premature death.

"He kept raving about Hades keeping Persephone in a world of darkness while she begged for her mother. And I had been stupid enough to continue to tell him of my plans. I had this whole idea in my head, it would be perfect for him, a fine apartment somewhere near the opera house. A room big enough for his instruments, a living room with a piano in the center, and access to a park so we could take walks on Sundays.

"He wouldn't listen, though. Of course, he wouldn't, not in that state, not in any state." Ilona wept now sitting beside Nadir for comfort. "He told me he wanted a normal life. A home to fill with music and a family that loved him. And he just dismissed it all together whilst saying he was such a monster he did not deserve the kindness I gave him. He ordered me gone before I even finished breakfast." Ilona sighed and looked to Nadir with tears now just in her eyes, her face with a smile at the thought of her papa being happy.

Nadir held her close as if she were still the little girl he had helped raise. She was sure in his eyes she was still that little girl that craved the stories of Persia and the candies that always seemed to fill his pockets. In this moment, she didn't need to be treated like an adult, she was a child. And she had acted like a child not only in front of her father, mother but now Nadir as well. She was just a foolish little girl.

"I want him to be happy," Ilona mumbled. "Is that too much to ask?"

"No," Nadir said kissing her forehead. "It's not. And he is sulking in that cellar right now sobbing over his mistake. He even kept mumbling about missing lessons and being a poor angel."

"An angel?" Ilona giggled slightly. "He calls himself a monster yesterday and today he is an angel."

"I'm sure he was speaking of you," Nadir said with a friendly smile on his face at Ilona's attempt at humor. "You are quite the angel on stage. I still remember your first time on stage in The Magic Flute. You were one of those spirits that lead Tamino to the temple, and all you did was stare out into the audience. I thought Erik was going to blow a gasket in his seat, instead, you shocked us both when you finally got your footing back and sang your little heart out."

Ilona remembered that performance very well. Her mother, father, and Nadir had sat in her father's usual box 5 to watch her premiere at age eight in The Magic Flute. She had been one of the three child-spirits that were really just there to look cute and guide Tamino. She could still remember those warm stage lights hitting her face for the first time in rehearsals thinking she would be fine... Instead, when she first stepped out on stage in front of a live audience she had frozen. Her father had given her a fairly long lecture on the importance of stage presence afterward. And yet he had been so proud of her he purchased her a new porcelain doll as congratulations.

The doll and the costume she had managed to steal away from the costume ladies now were in her bedroom. Her doll on her chest of other toys and her costume in her wardrobe. The doll had been a close companion of hers until her papa had given her the plush kitten toy for her tenth birthday. He had always gifted her with toys when she had done well on stage, up until she was sixteen she had received some sort of toy, now she got flowers and stern notes. Well, she had always been receiving the stern notes.

"I still remember Monsieur Fre saying 'fuck' so loud some of the audience heard." Ilona laughed.

(10:00 pm)

"You were perfect Ilona," Nadir complimented the young diva as she welcomed him into her dressing room, filled with flowers and notes of admiration. "I don't think I've quite enjoyed myself nearly as much as watching you perform."

Ilona smiled as she took Nadir's bouquet of Gladiolus, Iris, white and red roses, and a single pink lotus. He knew she was very fond of the lilies and lotus flowers. He would order her a cake made from her favorite bakery decorated with a sugar lotus' adorning the vanilla icing. Nadir would often speak of the lotus gardens of Persia and Ilona longed to visit the seemingly mythical homeland of her second father.

She sniffed the bouquet making sure to make a show of placing them on her make-up table above all the other flowers sent by her admirers and patrons. Nadir allowed her to embrace him in a tight hug. He told her how beautiful she was on stage and how proud he was of her for her success, though she was certain if she began screaming like La Carlotta he would surely say the same.

"I'm so glad you enjoyed it," Ilona said with a bright smile as she took off her hideous wig. "I was falling flat by the end and I was almost certain everyone was staring at just me."

"You know hardly half of those people can read a single line of music." Nadir comforted her with as he always did when she told him she had made a mistake that he had not noticed. "I myself didn't notice anything."

Ilona looked to her make-up table once more to check for a note from her home. As soon as she spotted the familiar white rose with a single red petal she found the note. The note was in the familiar letterhead of a red skull along with a black outlined parchment paper her father probably spent 100 francs a month on supplying. He was a materialistic man to no end. Then again how else was he going to spend 20,000 francs a month?

"Oh, you didn't," Ilona said holding a familiar letterhead in her hand. "But he did."

Retrieving her letter opener she sliced through the red skull, getting to the neat calligraphy of her father's handwriting before she could place the envelope down. Nadir went to retrieving the letter from Ilona before she could even look into what her father had to say. Ilona knew very well what he would try to do and kept the letter well out of reach of the Persian policeman.

"Ilona. The first act was as skillfully marvelous as what I expect of you, dare I say you were nearly perfect? You were dreadfully flat in the final chorus. Your presence on stage in the second act, in general, was less than a declaration of a marquise but that of a peasant girl tending her flock. Your presence on stage from then was dreadful and more rehearsal time and less fraternizing with your lover will do you well. I am certain you know of this already. You are a good girl and should know what is more important than a mindless banker. Forever yours, Erik." Ilona read aloud making sure to mock her father when reading of his critiques of her work.

Ilona handed the letter to Nadir giving him the option of what he wanted to do with it since she was done. She knew very well she was only flat in act 2 because she was not as into the show as she should have been. She had been foolish, thinking of what he thought of her. She knew what he thought of her, he was probably blubbering to himself whilst watching her performance. And then she ruins everything by just worrying about something he would tear apart anyway.

She could only look forward to when they finally meet face to mask. He would certainly have many choice words to describe her "poor" performance and her lover the banker. It was for the best he tore apart her work rather than on the clueless Léon.

"You have a lover?" Nadir asked with something a mix of rage and worry mixed upon his face.

"No!" Ilona nearly shouted. "I do not, nor will I ever, have a lover. You know how he gets when I am around others? He sees me as a friend and thinks we are lovers."

Nadir physically seemed calmer as she made the clear note that she did not have a lover. He's already tan skin seemed to get a shade darker and redder before she could explain to him what truly was going on. He looked as if he were going to go down to her father's lair and kill Léon with her father as accompaniment. Imagine that sight... She preferred not to.

"You seemed friendly enough with the boy at dinner." Her father's voice suddenly rang out from the seemingly the ceiling. "Daroga, you about looked like you were going to strangle the boy. Hardly something a good policeman should do n't you think?"

"Erik!" Nadir called.

"Papa!" Ilona mumbled.

"Show yourself!"

"But why should I?" Her father said in a sing-song voice. "You don't seem to want Erik around anymore. You leave your poor father in his lair all alone and don't make an effort to check on him yourself? That's rather cruel don't you think my dear?"

Ilona was not about to let his madness get the better of her. He was going through on of his fits of rage, if she challenged him now it would only make his fit of tears later worse. His mood would shift soon, hopefully by the time she managed to get both of her father and Nadir out of her dressing room. Her costume was getting hotter and uncomfortable by the second.

"Be kind, Erik!" Nadir tread lightly in the water of ordering her father to do something.

Nadir had survived her father for well over two decades, if he had not been on the end of a rope by now her father did enjoy his company. Would he admit it? Of course not, but the two were as close as friends could be when it came to bickering over nothing and everything.

"Erik is being kind!" Her father shouted. "Erik is the kindest father he can be. You taught him well Daroga. He gives his daughter everything and yet she still disobeys his requests! And she does not even care to do her part to tell him when she purposefully destroys a perfect performance."

She had not done it on purpose. If anything it was his fault for not bothering to talk to her like a normal human being. She knew very well her father would never be a normal human being, but he could try. He thought of himself as a "monster", a "freak", a "demon, "the devil, and even an "angel", the definition of humanity could never be applied to him.

An angel. She found herself nearly giggling over her father calling himself an angel. She had heard her mother whisper about her father being the "angel of death", but the way Nadir had described it it was as if he believed himself an angel. Or perhaps he was beginning to see angels? What sort of angels would her father be seeing? An angel of death or an angel of music?

Cheesy last sentence is cheesy!


	4. Chapter 4

November 1, 1884

(4:00 pm)

"I heard Monsieur Lefevere is leaving." Josephine, a ballet rat of Ilona's age, whispered to her fellow rats while looking at the empty casting board. "He's retiring to Montecarlo to detox after the years of the ghost's terrors."

"It makes sense!" A blonde ballet rat spoke up suddenly, a new girl by the looks of her, she couldn't be older than 13. "That's why we don't know what we're doing!"

"I thought we were doing Faust?" Josephine remarked while twiddling her thumbs.

"And repeat the disaster leading up to last year's performance?" Anna, a chorus girl, about laughed at the ballet rats girl's chatter. "Even if Monsieur Lefevere was leaving, he wouldn't want a new manager coming in in the middle of the 'ghost's' terror."

Ilona just kept quiet. She had been called in this afternoon after closing La Fille du Regiment on Thursday to discuss the possibility of a salary increase... And to attend a lesson.

All Hallow's Eve had fallen perfectly on a Friday, leaving allowing for La Fille du Regiment's run to come to a clean end yesterday evening at two weeks on stage. Soon they would begin rehearsing for a new production of Hannibal, though she had just heard yesterday evening that they would be doing Faust instead. Either way it looked as if her role would be small.

She had been cast last year in the role of Maguerite's guardian, a mezzo-soprano role that had a range deep enough she doubted any of the mezzo's currently employed within the opera company could manage. Granted their stage time would be fairly limited.

A small role was not necessarily a bad thing. You were still on stage showing off your talents and keeping yourself in the notes, the good notes, of the music directors and managers. Besides, it would mean she would not have to show up to every rehearsal. They'd performed Faust last year around the same time, the restaged version had been surprisingly popular with the public, even though Ilona thought the whole thing was a disaster.

She could only hope those fools would not use the staging of last year. Her father had nearly thrown a gasket by the time dress rehearsals had begun. He had about run M. Lefevere out of the opera house by the time the show had closed. For years there have been rumors of his leaving, and she had been certain he was going to be gone before Faust closed in early December of last year.

Her father had been quiet since their confrontation with Nadir two weeks prior. It had been a short lived discussion granted, however, it had been productive enough. She had agreed to never run off again, as long as he agreed to never blow up in her face again as he had. She was not as much of a fool as her father probably thought her if he actually expected her to follow the agreement. She could expect the agreement to last a month? Perhaps two? Doubtful as it was she would like to have a normal relationship with him.

That was never going to happen, however, and she needed to toughen up and realize that no matter her wishes for her father to move in with her in her still imagined apartment, he would never. He was going to live in those sewers for the rest of his life. He'd die down there, she half expected him to tell her that he wished to be buried in the sewers.

This afternoon's lesson would hopefully not have that conversation brought up. If Ilona had luck on her side her father would focus entirely on her lesson this evening instead of what personal troubles they were having with each other. She knew she needed to talk to him about it, but he made things so very complicated, and it wasn't like he could help it, he has never been in his right mind.

Ilona left with the ballet rats and chorus girls chattering and arguing amongst themselves. If they had any information on what Opera or ballet even they were doing next it would certainly be helpful, however it did not seem these girls had any more clue than she did. Perhaps her papa knew?

As she headed towards the manager's office, Ilona found herself in almost empty hallways. There was no rehearsal on All Saint's Day, but there were plenty of people that lived within the opera house that should have occupied the halls, doing something. It was too empty.

"Pardon me!" A ballet rat's voice resounded as the girl promptly ran into Ilona in the empty hallway. "Sorry!"

The blonde girl looked like a dazed animal as she apologized profusely to Ilona. Ilona just looking equally dazed back at the girl. She couldn't be older than 20 with the delicate nature of her appearance, her blonde curly hair wound up in a falling bun, her pale face now flushing red from her clumsiness.

"Are you all right?" Ilona asked still dazed herself at being hit so hard in the arm.

"I'm sorry." The girl said with a very clear soprano ring. "I did not mean too! I am so sorry. I'm so clumsy."

How are you a ballerina then? Ilona about asked. She had seen this girl before, most often when she was getting yelled at in rehearsals for her poor dancing. Ilona could assume that it was the her beauty or a family connection that kept her in the ballet corps. Heaven knows where this girl would be otherwise, probably an employee of her mother's she was definitely beautiful enough.

"It's all right." Ilona reassured with a light smile. "I'm just glad you're all right. We can't have any injured dancers now can we? Especially if we are indeed performing Faust."

The girl smiled a wide smile. "I do so love the Jewel Song."

"I do as well." Ilona smiled back. "If only my voice were higher. I fear I am doomed forever to the old woman roles."

The girl looked slightly confused at Ilona's attempts at conversation, as if she did not know who Ilona was. Her face lit up with recognition as she clapped her hands.

"My teacher seems fond of you." She remarked as if Ilona would know who her teacher is, the most she knew about Madame Giry the ballet madame, was that she is a very stern teacher whom one does not want to get on her bad side of. Now it seemed as if the ballet mistress was fond of her, strange to say the least as the times Ilona had spent attempting to learn dance had been her with that cane coming dangerously close to her knees.

"I'm glad Madame Giry is fond of me." Ilona remarked with an ironic smile on her face at the thought of that cruel ballet mistress ever being fond of a horrid dancer as she was. "She always has been kind to me."

"No, not Madame Giry." The girl squeaked. "My voice teacher."

"Oh." Ilona shrugged her shoulders. "Pass on my thanks to your teacher. Does he work for the opera house? Perhaps I can thank him myself."

The girl just nodded with a friendly smile on her face, allowing Ilona to carry on about her business. She seemed friendly enough, apparently she was in training to become a singer. She could actually stand to be on the same stage as that soprano.

(6:30 pm)

"Good Evening," Ilona announced as she made her entrance into her father's home. "I hope you won't mind that I brought a bottle of Pernod to go with dinner."

Her papa often would have her dinner waiting if they held evening lessons, he of course would refuse to eat a thing and it would be a mostly quiet dining experience while Ilona told him of the current events of her life. He seemed to hardly mind if she rambled on about nothing, she hoped he enjoyed her ramblings, that he loved to hear of her life outside the Opera House; granted there was not much to her life outside the opera house.

She enjoyed the evenings though where she relayed the gossip of the Opera House to her father regarding the Opera Ghost rumors or just speaking ill of those members of the company she didn't particularly like. He only seemed moved when she tried to scold him for scaring her friends, or at least the members of the company she liked.

"Alcohol in high volume is detrimental to your voice." Her father remarked as he came from the kitchen and into the living area of his home. "Absinthe especially."

His mannerisms spoke of a well rested man, for once. He seemed steadfast in making the remark of the absinthe's high alcohol content, perhaps tonight would not have a sleep-deprived, paranoid incident.

"I don't think Tokay is any better the way you drink it." Ilona retorted, grinning like a cat as she caught him with his own vices.

"Come dinner is ready." He declared before he attempted to rebuttal her argument. "I've prepared turtle soup, roast pheasant in a truffle sauce, sea kale in a butter sauce, and if your lesson proves fruitful, a two Napoleons wait for you."

Napoleons and pheasant, he was pleased with her, for whatever she did. Had her last performances been better than she recalled? Was he trying to make up for his outburst a few weeks ago preparing her some of her favorite foods? Then again, it could be that he simply wanted to push her to do better to get her to get the dessert she craved.

She was childish in this way, wanting to please her papa in hopes of getting a treat. Her mother did the same to her throughout her childhood, and continued doing it to this day when wanting to get Ilona to do things she would rather not. Her papa on the other hand, he doubtfully saw her as a grown woman, he saw her as a little girl ready to take orders.

He probably thought her stupid, just a little girl trying to please him in hopes of a sweet cake. If she were more stubborn she would make sure to assert she was an adult, but truly she wanted to please him. She wanted him to know that she was working to achieve the dreams he had laid out for her at a young age. She was going to be that perfect student that reigned high in the land of singers.

As Ilona was lead into the dinning area of her father's home she noticed for once that two plates were prepared. Rarely, if ever, did her papa eat with her. She sometimes wondered if he truly ate anything at all. Nadir assured her he did, granted he also assured her that he slept, which he did, but most often she found him passed out on his piano or organ. It was detrimental to his health and yet he had made it very clear that he was never going to change his ways.

Sitting at her seat opposite her papa at the small dinner table, she took her napkin and set it in her lap and began the process of following the mannerisms her mother had instilled within her since childhood. With the final part of preparing herself for her meal, she went straight into taking a slow sip of her turtle soup.

Within little time her papa had joined her in eating, granted with his mask impeding upon how wide he could open his mouth without the thing showing more than his near lipless mouth and bony chin. She did as she had learned to do growing up, focus on your own food and not on papa, he would eat the way he would and if she looked the wrong way at him he'd stop and leave the room.

"It's rumored we'll be performing Faust before Christmas break." Ilona announced, doing her best to start a conversation with her papa and not dine in silence as he probably would prefer. "And another rumor says we'll be performing Hannibal."

Her papa looked at her with amusement evident in his cat eyes. Of course the opera ghost would know what the company would be performing before anyone else knew. He had his little traps with the management staff on getting information and relaying information before the rest of the company had any clue as to what they could be performing. Even with a season layout, more often than not they ended up going off schedule depending upon the popularity of a production.

Taking a long sip of his wine, her papa seemingly smiled at her, a smile she rarely got. "You would make a fine Marguerite."

Ilona laughed and shook her head. His sense of humor was still there and happily ready to play games with her. Often his jokes were cruel when it came to her singing, even if he didn't mean for them to be cruel. He had her crying on him at an early age when he made a snark comment on how poor her posture was.

"I'm sure I would." Ilona snickered. "The audience will be sure to bring bandages to heal their bleeding ears."

Ilona got up from the table still smiling at the thought of herself singing the Jewel Song on stage, she could barely manage above an E5, how would she maintain that note for an extended period of time would be anyone's guess. Sometimes she longed for the light, lyrical voice of a soprano, other times she was just proud to be on stage in any form. Even without the spotlight and fame that came with a soprano or mezzo position she had gained her own fame as the deep voiced angel of the opera house.

She prepared her a small glass of absinthe, taking two sugar cubes and pouring cold water onto the specialized spoon allowing the sugar to dissolve into the drink. She would say she about preferred absinthe to wine, a sacrilegious statement to make of a French girl, even if she were only partially French. Taking her glass she sat at the dinner table once more to eat the remainder of her turtle soup.

"Are we performing Faust then?" Ilona presumed as her papa took her soup bowl back into the kitchen.

He placed her an already cut pheasant breast before her, putting a small portion of the truffle sauce onto the already juicy game. The sea kale was added next to her plate as Ilona took her second sip of her glass of absinthe. She liked the taste of it to clear her palate of the salty turtle soup, wine would be a better cleanser perhaps, but over indulging in alcohol would do no good for her lesson.

Taking the first bite of the savory bird, Ilona smiled slightly, it was absolutely divine, cooked perfectly as was to be expected of her papa. He seemed to have learned to become a fine chef living beneath the paris opera house. In whole truth, Ilona was not surprised, he had to take on the role of housewife and master of his strange underground home. If she had her way he would be more focused on his music and his health than on preparing gourmet meals by himself. She had already burned that bridge, no use going across it now.

"No," Her father answered. "It will be Hannibal you shall be performing."

"I am certain I will also be a perfect Elissa then?" Ilona giggled. "I think La Carlotta will be running for Italy when she hears of my glorious voice."

Her papa seemed hardly amused by her joke, though he at least acknowledge her little funny with a nod of the head. She just continued to eat as if she had never made the joke, even if she was sure everyone else would find it funny. Her role as a princess of Carthage was already cast she was certain of that. It was the role she had played in the last production of Hannibal when she was 16. The princess was a glorified chorus position with a few solo lines sung and background to the singer of Elissa.

As they finished their meal, Ilona made note of her father's quietness once more. He only seemed to acknowledge her presence when she made mention of Nadir's recent gift to her of a new fancy dress costume in the style of his native Persia. It was a beautiful blue silk gown with gold leaf accenting the billowing skirts of the dress.

Nadir had presented it as a All Hallow's Eve gift, the holiday of which the Opera House held a masked ball to commemorate the horrors of the night and show off the expensive costumes of the ladies in attendance. She had not attended as she had a previous engagement with her mother, and by previous engagement she meant her mother needed help running shop on one of the busiest nights of the year for the whore house.

"He seems to be growing rather nostalgic in his old age." Her father had said as he collected her plate. "The Daroga never seems fond of talking about his home land with anyone but those who have never been lived in that hot hell-hole."

Ilona said nothing in response to her father's cruel message to the land that Ilona had always dreamed of seeing. She longed to go to the land Nadir seemed to spin as some mystic place of heat and palaces full of flowers. Her father seemed rather adamant that she never step foot in the Arab Peninsula, she knew of some of his misadventures in Persia from Nadir, but she was certain they were highly censored given her father's position at court.

He had been some sort of assistant to the Khanum of Persia, what that entailed was left to her imagination. The tales her father told of the cruelties of the Khanum was enough to know he had suffered just as much as the victims of her psychotic mind.

Her father lead her into the living area where he promptly sat down at his organ, ready to begin their lesson while Ilona was still too full from dinner to sing. She sat on the fainting couch by the organ to make it clear that she was not ready to begin her lesson just yet. Even if her papa ignored her she was not going to open her mouth, a full stomach was not something to sing with, it made the singer too sluggish.

"I'd like you to be warm-uped before 8." Her father expressed whilst digging through his various papers to find sheet music or libretto for her to follow. "I have something to attend to this evening."

Ilona just stared at her father for that moment. She was suddenly concerned for whoever's life was on the line for what it was he was attending to this evening. It was best to just leave the conversation at that, not bring it up, just ignore and pretend as if she had heard nothing. When she heard in the overmorrow of someone found hanging from the rafters she would show her horror then.

November 3, 1884

(11:30 am)

"Castings been posted!" An enthusiastic young chorus girl about shouted letting everyone viewing the final dress rehearsals of Giselle that both the Opera they would be performing next and the casting for it had been posted.

Ilona had been enjoying a quiet conversation with her former co-star Henri Dessay of the possibilities of performing Faust once more. Henri was rather fond of last year's new staging of the opera and spoke happily of hoping to reuse it. Though Ilona already knew that Hannibal would be performed instead of Faust she indulged in the act of being just as ignorant of the next performance as everyone else.

Her papa had had her run through much of her part during their lesson on Saturday evening before he had to run off to do whatever it was he had to accomplish. It had turned out not to be a murder, however, it did not mean that her father was free from any wrong doing with his early departure from their lesson. She knew she'd find out soon enough if someone came in saying someone had an unfortunate accident resulting in loss of voice.

"Would you like to accompany me to the cast board?" Henri requested with the utmost politeness, offering his arm to her as they departed the auditorium backstage to the posted cast list.

She accepted his offered arm and the two departed quietly as to not disturb Madame Giry as she gave a firm lecture to the girl playing Myrtha for her sloppy arms. Henri began to chatter about how he hoped to receive a role outside the chorus, even land the role of Wagner, a friend of Marguerite's brother in the opera. Ilona indulged him stating she would enjoy working alongside him as a Marguerite's old guardian.

Making their way through the halls the bottleneck soon became evident as all the company members scampered to see what role they would be performing. Ilona humored herself as she made her way slowly to look upon the casting list. She heard the disappointed whispers of the chorus girls as they had hoped to somehow manage a starring role in either Hannibal or Faust.

"What are we performing?" A flabbergasted Henri asked doing his best to look over the top of dozens of performers crowding the small board.

"Hannibal it would seem." Ilona remarked quietly pretending as though she had overheard a disappointed chorus member running off. "Well you shall be a handsome solider I am sure."

"And you a princess." Henri alleged looking disappointed as ever at the prospect of being relegated to a glorified chorus role.

The cast list revealed her role as a "Princess of Carthage", a small role with few independent sung lines given to her. It wasn't truly a disappointment to Ilona, she had known very well that her role in either Faust or Hannibal would be small. And now she had the small role she had been destined to have, and she was somehow saddened by it. Perhaps the limelight was beginning to get to her, her cravings for more attention was only beginning to surface.

Looking over the posting one last time she saw that the opera would only run for two weeks. That gave room for another opera to be performed before the small Christmas break was held. Could it be an opera with a large role for her? Oh how she hoped it would be. Her papa would know. He would know and tell her that she had much to be studying.

As she made her way to look at the rehearsal times she suddenly got the urge to go underground to find out if her father did indeed know of the next opera to be performed. Perhaps they could get started on her practice for the role now? She smiled to herself as she told Henri that she would be heading home for the day, and after heading back to her dressing room to get to the passageway.

Locking the door behind her, Ilona wrapped a cloak around herself to prepare herself for the cold journey through the old torture chambers down to her father's home. Closing the passage door behind her tightly she made sure that she had everything before beginning the descent down five stories.

The walk down was full of frightful sights of skeletons, rats, and some of the more frightful sights of the Paris underground. The smell itself was not something she could stand for too long as well, walking briskly while making sure she did not step into any of the traps set was a difficult task that she and Nadir had helped master years before. The dark labyrinth still frightening her to this day as she made her way down the long staircase at last.

Crossing the lake was the most hazards part of the journey down, the small boat that would lead her across was one that if one stepped in wrong would promptly flip leaving her under the water and risking drowning from the siren...

Getting out of the boat was much simpler than getting into it, she was just glad her father's home held an entrance that was just like that of a home. A small staircase that lead to a large wooden door, a door that was so frightfully heavy it blocked the sounds from within and the sounds from outside from getting in. The way to open the door was fairly simple if one knew the way down into the labyrinth.

Opening the door with a good deal of effort on her part, Ilona made her way into his home while closing the door as quietly as the damned thing would allow. Her father's home was notably silent. On the average day one could hear the battering of organ or piano keys coming from just the entrance of the home. Her father's queer sounding music blaring from the other room.

Today it was silent. Ilona made her way into the living room with the usual caution that came from entering her father's house without letting him know first that she was coming. She had made the mistake before of surprising him and the resulting rope burn around her neck had been something that her mother had about strangled Nadir. Not to mention her father practically killing himself over the guilt of nearly killing her had brought. He had forbidden her from ever entering his home for well over two months before he seemed to forget the incident all together.

"You shall be perfect." Her father said as though he were crying from the other room, his bedroom. "The role will be yours. All of Paris shall knell before you my angel. And you shall have everything we have ever wished for. And you shall love me. You will love me."

Ilona stood there as she listened to him descend into tears. She was not allowed in his bedroom, not even Nadir would permit her entrance to that mysterious room. She was not about to disobey both of them to go comfort him. He'd only be mad at her. Even in what sounds like grief she was not going to bother him.

"You shall love me." He had said, what did that mean, of course she loved him, even through his madness she loved him, what would give him the impression that she did not love him. Did he doubt her love for him? How could he doubt it? She told him often enough, she routinely traveled down the hell that was the Paris Opera underground to eat dinner with him and have a lesson. He gave her gifts of which she held in high regard. She had hugged him many a times, even when he had shrunk back in discomfort she had still held tight to him letting him know that she was there and was willing to hug him.

Poor thing. He deserved all the happiness in the world, and yet at the same time he deserved what he had brought upon himself. Even through her censored view of what her father's life had been she knew he deserved this eternal solitude. And yet she was unwilling to fall through with the righteous punishment. She was a little girl just wanting to make her papa happy by doing everything in her power to please him.

He called her his angel, he'd never called her by any endearments like normal father's would to their daughters. In his mad mind she was sure that he had plenty of imagined lies between the two of them, adventures that made sense only to him. As if their time spent together had been something entirely different to him than simply music lessons and his lectures. He loved her as a father should love their daughter, give her everything, love, music, and in return receive just as much from her. And she did.

But did he realize it? No, he would not fear that she did not love him if he had. He was too far gone to see normal human interactions as love, in his mind she was sure that her affections towards him were nothing but a ruse. Oh her poor papa. He deserved so much more. And she longed to give it to him, hug him and tell him that everything would be fine, she'd do everything in her power to give him a normal life away from the solitude he had long suffered.

Ilona about rushed into that forbidden room at just the thought; but she restrained herself, she was not foolish enough to just barge into the room. It was best left for their next lesson to show him all the affections he thought he had been denied. Yes, and then he would be happy, in his own little mad world perhaps he could be happy enough to live above ground with her and be a normal family?

Don't we all want those who have suffered the most to hold even the smallest bit of happiness?


	5. Chapter 5

November 5, 1884

(11:00 am)

"How does it feel having so much free time?" Léon asked looking across the brunch table to his dear friend. "I can only imagine not having to go to school or work for a few days. What I'd do with that time?"

Ilona smiled and went back to looking over the menu at the new cafe a few blocks away from Léon's law school, La Institut d'études politiques de Paris, a relatively new university focused on the study of the new field of Political Science and the old field of Law. Léon often spoke of how the fields blended together so perfectly, though she did not understand how science could possibly have anything to do with the law.

Le Rossignol had opened but a few weeks ago and already it was attracting many of the university students and young, fashionable middle-class people to the cafe. Today, as a way of catching up outside of her mother's or the opera house's prying ears. Her mother would ask too many questions about whether or not the two of them were having protected intercourse. She cared, she cared about something that did not happen, but at least she cared enough to go over the safe sex lecture once more.

The opera house was just a rumor mill that showing up with Léon would only prove to cause the rumors of her leaving and engagement go through the roof. If anyone knew her well enough at the opera house they would know very well she would not be leaving even if she were to get married. Her career was important to her, she was not going to let a silly thing like marriage to get in her way of triumph.

"It's not all that exciting," Ilona replied with a small smile. "All I do is sit at home and practice. And we certainly can't forget my mother's opinion on downtime."

"Have you heard the rumor of Monsieur Lefevre leaving?" Léon inquired with a roll of the eyes to note his understanding of her mother's various opinions. "I heard two industrialists were purchasing the Opera House from Lefevre."

"That rumors been going around since before I started working at the opera house," Ilona muttered taking a sip of her orange juice. "Where did you hear about two men purchasing the opera house?"

"One of my professors has ties with Monsieur Dumont, the patron behind the electric light installation," He added. "And M. Dumont was recently informed that there will be an important meeting on the twelfth to discuss the future of the opera house. My professor then informed me that M. Dumont had said he would be renouncing his patronage if a pair of junk dealers came to acquire the opera house."

Ilona just gaped for a moment at the thought. Monsieur Dumont had been with the Palais Garner since the beginning, he and Garnier had been the two to present the plans before the Parisian counsel. How could Monsieur Dumont think of abandoning his pet project of more than two and a half decades? Was he dying? No, the man had been seen with Garnier at the opening night of Tristan und Isolde drinking happily in their usual seats talking quite loudly.

"Junk dealers?" Ilona muttered whilst thinking over the details of how M. Dumont could possibly abandon the Palais Garnier. "If M. Lefevre were truly selling the opera house he would not risk losing such a big patron. His legacy as a manager and owner of the opera would be soiled. Besides that, he'd be responsible for running it into the ground as much as whoever purchases it."

"You know how unlikely it would be for M. Dumont to allow two industrialists with no ties to the aristocracy to purchase the Garnier," Léon reassured her taking note in her tense body language, her fear of unemployment weighing heavily on his dear friend. "Besides that, Garnier himself would never allow two scrap junkers to take charge of his crown jewel."

Ilona sighed. Garnier was likely in Italy not giving a damn about what would happen to his most noted architectural feat, he preferred his time drinking and coming up with more ludicrous designs, most of which would never see the light of day in completion. She doubted he even had a say in what would happen to the opera house given in his namesake, as long as it had his name on it. The way papa had described the man, and from her own brief conversations with him, she knew that he was far too focused on his own ideas.

"You look lovely this morning," Léon remarked. "Not that you do not look lovely every morning."

Ilona smiled. He was taking her mind off the opera house, giving her compliments he knew would make her smile, sometimes even blush. She did not think of herself as very beautiful, compared to her mother she was rather plain. Her mother's beautiful green eyes did not sparkle the same way they did within her head. Her lips were thin, a healthy red at least, but still too thin to be desired for a kiss. Her hair was truly the only thing she thought as one of her most attractive features, auburn waves cascading well down her back when down; even up her hair was still just as beautiful.

"And you are just as handsome as ever." Ilona asserted with a soft giggle accompanying her compliment.

Léon was truly handsome. He was well-built, partially due to years of running place to place, blond hair that was trimmed into the latest fashion, vibrant blue eyes that could leave any unsuspecting victim weak in the knees, and his sideburns and stubble the only evidence of facial hair. He was nearing 23, had he not been openly defending prostitutes, he could have had a fine society girl by now on his arm. Instead, he worked in their shared goal of letting society know of the existence and acceptance of prostitutes.

"Pain perdu embellished with powdered sugar and strawberries for the mademoiselle." A waiter said, interrupting Ilona's musings as he placed her brunch meal down before her. "And a smoked salmon terrine swimming in a lightly sweetened lemon sauce and embellished with a fine sampling of dill for the gentleman."

The waiter was gone before a "thank you" could be given to the waiter, obviously, the man was quite busy and had many customers awaiting his excellent recommendations and fine dining expertise. Ilona's toast looked nearly as divine as it smelled. Taking a strawberry that had been soaking in the maple syrup and powdered sugar mix and placing it in her mouth was a great relief to her already growling stomach.

Léon appeared to be savoring the look of the food before him before beginning to enjoy it. The cafe was a lit with many customers as the two friends enjoyed their mid-day meal. Ilona especially enjoyed the time away from the opera house and the whining of La Carlotta as her rehearsals for Hannibal became increasingly longer. The woman refused to read off the libretto, stating instead that she had it well memorized from the last time she had played Elissa some years ago. Her memory was shit, and now the whole company was left with a week of impatient arrest waiting for that woman to look at her book.

Ilona ate her toast with little qualms about La Carlotta, she was just a princess in Hannibal, if the opera was shit the blame would not fall upon her. The worst that could happen to her was to be on the wrong end of one of Carlotta's tantrums. With any luck, the woman would lose her voice before the week was out and spare them all the misery of having to listen to her banshee-like shrieking.

"What is your role in Hannibal?" Léon asked as he looked at her plate as if her toast was suddenly more desirable than his own meal.

"I am one of the 'Princesses of Carthage'," Ilona announced proudly in her small role. "I give the most important line of the opera, 'Father! She's dead! Elissa... She's dead.'"

"This is before or after the aria in Act III?" Léon said impressing Ilona with his memory of such an obscure opera like Hannibal.

Granted the aria Elissa sang in Act III of Hannibal was one of the most well-known arias in the world of music. In her own opinion, Ilona was certain the only reason they performed the complicated show was because of that aria. It was beautiful yes, she had sung it several times to herself and to her papa when she was younger. He had told her at 12 that she was destined for the life of a chorus girl with a horrid upper registry. Well, she had certainly proven him wrong, at least the part of him that had lashed out about her voice falling too low.

"Before," Ilona stated. "I must go and inform the defeated Hannibal that his lover that he neglected and whored out to the other generals of Carthage is dead of a broken heart. Elissa then comes out as if an angel from heaven in her best gown to sing that haunting melody that will leave Hannibal with no choice but to think of her till the day he dies."

Léon made the comment that at least she was on stage and she agreed wholeheartedly that she was at least on stage. But he knew her well enough to know that just being on the stage was not her true desire. She wanted to be the star on that stage, not some minor character easily replaced with another girl. She wanted a role that was hers and hers alone, a role written just for her.

Wouldn't that be nice? A whole opera dedicated to her, written just for her voice, just for her to perform before all of Paris. Imagine the attention that would garner for her, she would be invited to the best of the best parties, live a life of luxury she was still so far from achieving, and perhaps even a small home for her father out of the dark cellars?

"Do you ever wish you were a musician?" Ilona asked with a friendly smile reappearing on her face.

"Yes," Léon admitted with a smile on his face. "I would love to be a pianist, perhaps even a composer. I would be sure to dedicate my writings to you. Perhaps we could even perform together on the Garnier's stage?"

"Yes, we could," Ilona remarked, thinking of poor Léon on stage with stage fright as bad as hers. "You would need to compose your best for me, though. I won't be singing an amateurs work, of that I can assure you."

"I know that," He chuckled, his cheeks turning a shade of pink at the thought of a seasoned artist like Ilona singing to some of the most horrid creations of music. "We make a good pair. If I ever did compose anything you would comb through the sheet music with that eloquent mind of yours and edit it into your own work."

She smiled. Yes, that would be what she would do if he ever approached her with sheet music he claimed was his own. Léon would make a poor musician, he thought too much like a lawyer, logic was important yes, but so was the passion, the emotion that was needed to fulfill the role. If there was a way, she would truly love to perform alongside Léon's tenor voice.

"I wanted to give you something," Léon said after their meal was finished.

Léon reached into his jacket's breast pocket. Ilona's eyes went wide for a moment. Had he talked to her mother? Her mother would have told her if Léon had asked. She would have made him go through Nadir before he was even allowed to purchase the damned thing. And why was he doing this in a cafe of all places?

Her thoughts raced through her head as he pulled out a small, but long, thank god, red velvet box with a jeweler's store name sewn onto it. Her heart had nearly stopped at the thought of Léon being foolish enough to ask her to marry him. Of all places a cafe as well, no, a bracelet was acceptable, if it was a bracelet that is.

Ilona smiled as she reached for the box. Opening the long box revealed a beautiful gold bracelet, engraved leaves, and flowers flowing from the front, a turquoise gem sitting at the center of a diamond shape of diamonds. It was absolutely beautiful.

"It's beautiful

"It's beautiful." Ilona professed to put the bracelet on her bare right wrist to make a show off how much she admired the gift. "I can't even begin to describe how beautiful it is, or how thankful I am to you for gifting it to me. I love it."

Léon held a blush to his cheeks as Ilona continued her gawking at the fine piece of jewelry. He reached across the table to take her hand to see the bracelet on her small wrist. Taking a look around the cafe's partially covered outdoor seating, he immediately kissed her hand and wrist when he found no one truly paying attention to them.

"I saw it in a store window and thought it was just made for you." He confessed twirling the small bead that hung down from the front. "I was about late to class."

"Don't sacrifice your future for my sake," Ilona muttered with a look of concern spread across her face. "Our plans for reform do not include you failing classes or missing work."

"I won't," Léon nodded in agreement. "It doesn't mean that I can't enjoy one day out with you."

Ilona simply smiled and looked down at her wrist where the beautiful gold bracelet lay.

(7:00 pm)

"With feasting and dancing and song!" Ilona sang with the focus on her chest voice accenting her role as important even if it were to be drowned out by the rest of the chorus. "Tonight we celebrate!"

Her father stopped playing the organ as soon as she sang the word "celebrate". She was doing as he instructed, less vibrato as M. Reyer would have and more focus on the chest. There were times she wondered if her father would ever be pleased with her work, tonight was not one of those times. He seemed ever distracted as he worked with her through her usual lesson.

He had been the one to contact her for an unscheduled lesson earlier in the afternoon after her meal with Léon. For whatever reason he was so distracted was lost on Ilona. His mood had been relatively indifferent this whole lesson and she was beginning to wonder if he were going to break down in tears or lash out in anger; either way, it was best to lead on an air of caution with him this evening.

She was not going to bother bringing up what she had overheard two nights before. It was best to leave that until he was in a better, more joyous mood to bring up his melancholy. He was going to be hugged before she left, even if she had to create a scene to get him to think she was upset she was going to hug him.

For whatever reason it was that made him believe that she did not love him was not going to last the night; until the next bout of paranoia her father suffered that is.

"Still too much vibrato." Her father stated. "The last thing I need is for my own daughter to strut around the stage acting and singing like that cow."

Ilona nodded quickly. She waited then for him to dish out any more notes on her performance before he began again. They were only on the opening act, imagine how much longer this lesson was going to last if he interrupted every other line. Her mother certainly would not be happy. However, imagine the possibility that she could spend the night down here with him and have him understand her loyalty and love for him.

Even if he didn't say it, she was certain he enjoyed his time spent with her just as much as she did. Perhaps she could convince him to let her spend the night without having to feign sleep to get him to carry her to the Louise-Philippe room? It was doubtful it would work without her actually falling asleep, October's incident had been evidence enough that he was willing to have her stay with him for a night.

Perhaps she could even work to make sure the morning of that October morning did not repeat itself, she and her papa would have a fine peaceful breakfast together and they could talk from there about the future. It was worth a try if she was brave enough to institute the plan that is.

He began again. The lesson continued rather peacefully after that one interruption, her father directed her once more to open her mouth wider, less vibrato, less head voice, no chest voice, and of course her usual flub, less shaking. He turned to look at her through his masked face as she sat down on the fainting couch behind the organ.

"Erik would like to hear his daughter attempt something," Her father declared turning his famished frame around once to his organ to hand her the Hannibal Libretto. "Turn to Act III, Elissa's Aria, Think of Me."

Ilona took the libretto from her father's hand with shaky palms as she began flipping through the small book to Elissa's beloved aria. Her eyes wide as she did as her father told her to do. He was mad if he thought she could manage the cadenza at the end of the song, she was sure she could manage with her head voice just fine until that cadenza. Each singer added her own flair to the cadenza, however, in this case, Ilona was using the provided example used by the original Elissa decades earlier.

She opened her mouth once she eyed the libretto and the musical accompaniment that came with the aria, but before she could her began playing. He directed with his elegant hands her time to come in and with that Ilona began singing an aria never meant to be sung by a contralto.

"Of..." Ilona sang, at last, the cadenza, a scale that leads her from C4 to G5. "Me!"

The "me" ended on an E6 leaving Ilona more than a little frazzled at the end of the aria. She felt her throat burn from the cadenza and her nasal passageways were already working their way into clearing with excessive use of her head voice already showing side effects. She didn't dare go for a glass of water or a handkerchief, she would stand there and wait for her father to say something, likely very negative, about her take on the aria.

Her father stood up from his organ, his whole frame reflecting a man of relaxed nature, a sane man, a calm and fatherly man. His friendly body language shone through as Ilona handed the libretto back to her father. He seemed uninterested in hearing the aria sung by her voice ever again, and for that, she did not blame him. Looking down at her feet she prepared herself for the lecture that she knew was coming; how the best singers can make do with any work, no matter their range limitations.

The submissive nature she gave off must have made her father sympathize with her as she felt the light pressure of those thin lips upon her forehead. Daring herself to wrap her arms around that bony waist was another thing she felt like doing. If he was willing to kiss her he must be willing to hug her. He must know that she loves him if she was willing to let him kiss her forehead. Heaven knows no other woman would allow it.

Counting to three, Ilona dared herself at last to hug her father. Her arms quickly wrapping around his stomach with his ribs now pressed against her chin and neck. He seemed taken aback for a moment by her daring hug but returned it with less furor than she could have hoped for. He couldn't hug right, he was doomed to just put his arms around the other person and not know how to hold that person back.

"You did well." Her father announced. "You've impressed me once more this evening."

Ilona had a daring, stupid thought come to her, she was sure he would never guess that she knew what he had said in his private home. He would never know, he would just think her a silly little girl like her already thought her to be. The worst that could happen is him to accuse her of being dimwitted if he took it the wrong meaning.

"Am I your angel?" Ilona asked, taking a step back from her father to look him in the eye or mask.

Her father's friendly body language remained the same. His mask, as usual, reflected nothing as to what he was thinking. His breathing stayed the same. Her submissive stature came back with a vengeance when he did not respond to her within a few seconds. She feared him thinking she had spied on him. He may hit her, he wouldn't dare, but what if he did?

What would she do? Run home to her mother and tell her exactly what her mother wanted to hear about him. Run to Nadir and risk another few weeks of awkward silence that would only lead to another confrontation like this.

Ilona bit her lip as she heard her father take an intake of breath to speak.

"I have never been fond of those doltish endearments fathers' place upon their daughters, Ilona." He said, at last, revealing an indifferent voice from her father. "You are nearing 20, it is time to put these childish thoughts of what you never had behind you."

He'd called her a child, just as she had expected, at least now he acknowledged her age. He could at least indulge her in revealing what it was that he had wished to call her. Why had he called her an angel then in private if he did not wish for her to know aloud? Had he always called her this? Had he not thought to call her those stupid endearments just to please her?

Her own submissive body and face must have been evidence enough for her father to pat her on the shoulder and tell her to not waste her tears on something as silly as a nickname. She was not going to cry before, but now, now she felt like sobbing just to get him to see that he had done something to upset her. He never did notice when he had done something wrong unless she responded in anger or in tears. She was going to cry, just because she could, just so he would see that he had caused her pain.

He had already moved into the kitchen to prepare her after practice cup of tea. With tears now freely flowing Ilona made her way into the living room to wait for her father's shock as he realized how he had upset her.

Her father handed her her cup of tea, with honey to relax her voice. He seemed not to notice her tears at first, he was much more immersed in his preparation of his Russian tea. She looked to him as he put a whole lemon's worth of juice into the tea, he made no movement if he heard her sniffle. She just sat there, waiting, waiting for him to tell her it was all right. He would comfort her. He had to, just as he had when she had twisted her ankle at 12, he would hold her and sing to her, just as a father should.

And he would know that he had been the one to cause her her pain, not a twisted ankle, but his cruelty. He'd beg her for forgiveness as she smiled and reveled in his begging.

"Do you want more lemon?" He asked, his voice declaring his indifference to his own daughter's tears. "I always thought the honey and lemon mix was better for loosening the mucus of the larynx."

"No thank you, papa." Ilona expressed with a quick sniffle to add effect to her sadness.

The use of the term "papa" was enough to bring him out of his detached state, she knew it would. He stiffened visibly in his seat, his shoulders became taut, while his head was raised high in attention, or frustration. With a snarl, an animalistic snarl she had only heard of those animals in their enclosures, her papa ripped off his black mask revealing his horrifyingly, abhorrent face.

His gold eyes revealing his anger more than the snarl that had escaped his near lipless mouth. He was truly a frightful sight before her. Monstrous as he was, she had to stand her ground. No matter how she longed to look away from her father's irate, the distorted face she had to look on. He would not win by trying to frighten her with a face she had seen so many times before.

"If you did not bear such a resemblance to my loathsome mother, I would have had your mother at the end of a noose for foolishly thinking I could have ever sired a child with my vile seed." He spat in such depraved indifference to her, he could care less if his evil words left her with any feelings of malevolence, he only cared for his message, making her fear him.

"And yet somehow here you are, the carbon-copy of my odious mother sitting before me crying just as she had. She used to use the same false tears to get me to bend to her imprudent causes." His voice broke as the rage within him mounted. He approached her with a sort of reserved caution about him, he bent down to be at eye-level with her seated form.

Ilona did not look away as he held her head in his hands to get her to stare into his eyes. She stared, tears drying in her eyes as she refused to show him any weakness he could perceive of her. She was his mother, she was his daughter, she was kind where her apparent grandmother could not bear the sight of her own son's atrocious face. She was strong, she could look death in the face and still not fear the sight before her.

She would not revert to crying or shaking like her despicable grandmother would. She would brave anything to show him that she cared, even in his maddened state she cared. What she wanted was him not to leave her, she wanted him to stay, stay and tell him that she loved him and hope he would tell her the same in return. Call her those silly endearments other father's called their daughters, tell her that she was his angel bond to save him from the dark hell that was his exile.

"Here you are being a brave little girl, staring at Erik's monstrous face," The rage in his voice dissipated for a moment, a tear streaming down his cheek as he grasped her shoulders. "No thoughts within your head but thoughts of dauntlessness. My plucky Ilona; always willing to show kindness to her poor Erik even when his madness got the better of him."

He patted her head like she was an animal. With tears flowing from his golden cat eyes, he began to play with one of the loose curls that hung from her now falling up-do. He knelt before her just crying, not saying a word to her, just playing with a section of her hair while she sat there dumbfounded. She knew very well this was how he would react, but not before calling her kind or a brave girl.

He admired her, not just because of her voice and her potential, but because she held qualities to similar to his own. She smiled slightly before taking her father's skeleton head in her hands and kissing his forehead as he had done so many times before with her in his own attempts at comfort.

"You are a good-hearted girl," He mumbled as more tears began to spill down his cheeks. "You are my selfless girl, you would touch Erik with such tenderness even when he was mad with anger, you are truly God's most precious gem delivered from heaven above to ease her poor papa's suffering."

She sat down on the floor in front of her papa at his words. He had not called her an angel, he had called her a gem. Not only that he had called himself her papa. He had never referred to himself as her papa before, rarely as her father even, just as her "poor Erik". He wrapped his arms around her in a real hug, a hug that was not given with restraint on her papa's part, but with the full force of warmth that came from hugs she had received from everyone but oh so rarely him.

"I love you, papa," Ilona whispered with a smile as her papa continued to hold tight to her and sob.

He said barely above a whisper that he loved her too. The joy she felt then was incomparable to most anything she had felt in recent years. He loved her and he knew that she loved him, no matter how mad he became she would always love him.


	6. Chapter 6

November 14, 1884

(11:00 am)

"With feasting and dancing and song!" The chorus rang out as they entered stage left into the already putting the stage of the Paris Opera House. "Tonight a celebration!"

Ilona found herself in full costume before noon on the day of the premiere of the opera Hannibal, between a mezzo-soprano and a fellow contralto from the chorus all dressed in their costumes of Princesses of Carthage. If all went well during this morning's rehearsals perhaps she would have time for a nap until the premiere this evening.

Hannibal had proven not only a complicated set design but a struggle as La Carlotta had deemed it her time to complain about each and every inconvenience that befell her. She had even gone so far as to begin directing the Opera herself, yelling her commands at various members of the cast and crew members, some being so frightened of the soprano they did as she barked.

She had witnessed La Carlotta tear up half the costume designer's notebooks for Elissa's costumes. She had not been satisfied until a complete redesign of the character's costumes had been completed, even going as far as to attempt to put together the pieces herself.

The whining and orders had not been the only troubles to come from la Carlotta, as of today, the day of the premiere, the cast had yet to run through the entirety of the Opera without the soprano's incessant voice yelling out to stop and focus more on her. Mistakes happened often on stage, it was to be expected in the Opera, but with la Carlotta as the star the company was left with more mistakes and less order than any opera production in recent history.

Even the infamous Opera Ghost had seemed to have given up on the production. Instead of spending his time beneath in the cellars composing, deciding to let a horrible production be the end of La Carlotta's career... if only. Ilona was not foolish enough to think Monsieur Lefevre would fire the diva over destroying yet another opera. The woman's contract was still active until June of next year, or so she had recently learned.

Her father as of yesterday evening had deemed his daughter's performance to be perfection, even if it were a small role. His objections to La Carlotta had not nearly been the rant Ilona had been expecting as she had been whisked away into the cellars of the Palais Garnier, instead, he spoke more towards a failed show leaving Monsieur Lefevre with little choice but to fire the diva.

Though she wished to agree with her father, she knew better than to be such a wishful thinker. La Carlotta would remain, though hopefully with this disaster of an evening ahead of them, her roles would be reduced to a glorified member of the chorus until her contract ran out.

Ilona and her fellow members of the glorified chorus sang out as they waited for their next cue to begin. The ballet rats following right behind them as Ilona fell to her side of the stage, singing still as she heard one of the pointe shoes squeak on the stage. Followed shortly by the Princes' of Carthage singing the praises of Hannibal.

Piangi came out on stage, twirled his cape as best he could and proclaimed that it was a sad return to find the land of Carthage threatened by "Roma" once more. Which then prompted Monsieur Reyers, bless the man already shouting, how to correctly pronounce "Rome".

Ilona smiled for a moment before catching herself in the act. From across the stage, she watched as Monsieur Lefevre and two unknown gentlemen joined them onto the stage. New patrons perhaps? Probably, unless other rumors of M. Lefevre's leaving proved true, which to be quite frank she doubted. The two gentlemen were dressed respectfully, hardly members of the elite, but wealthy industrialist to say the least.

"It is very hard for me to say, Rome!" Piangi whined as he and M. Reyers engaged in a quick bout of words.

The Italian tenor was a fairly nice man, though his affiliation with Carlotta was something less than desirable, he was a decent singer and a decent human being. More often than not it was his performance that held the production's that La Carlotta tried to run into the ground. He was like a loyal dog really, always coming to do as Carlotta said even if it endangered his own career. Love can make a man do anything.

"Gentlemen!" Monsieur Lefevre called over the banter of Piangi and M. Reyers. "This way please!"

M. Lefevre escorted the gentlemen around the ballet girls and onto stage left, standing practically in front of Ilona as she did her best to keep a neutral expression on her face. She rather wanted to laugh at the exchange between the tenor and music director, but with the manager and new patrons in front of her, it was best not to chance it.

"Rehearsals are underway as you see," M. Lefevre continued. "For the new production of Chameleon's Hannibal."

It was peculiar to see M. Lefevre with a cane in hand, an instrument he used when walking outdoors not within the halls of the Palais Garnier. He even had a scarf around his neck as if he were leaving shortly for some important brunch with these two industrialists. She had little doubt in her mind that these two men were in fact future patrons of the Palais Garnier, just for the mere fact they were permitted to walk onto the stage during rehearsal.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" M. Lefevre shouted as he stamped his cane on the stage in order to get everyone's attention. "Someone of you may have already in fact heard of M. Andre and M. Firmin for their recent success in the junk business."

That was a rather cruel way to introduce the two patrons, Ilona thought as she eyed the two new patrons with caution. With any luck, these two men would be only in attendance of but a few opera productions a year like the rest of the patrons and the cast would only have to cater to their needs then. If they were married of course that was a different story, and given the age of the two gentlemen, she felt at least one of them were married.

"Monsieur Lefevre!" M. Reyers shouted, his attention diverted from Piangi but for a moment. "We are rehearsing! Would you not mind waiting a moment please?"

M. Reyers had been music director long before Ilona had been born, when M. Lefevre had become manager of the Salle Le Peletier in 1872 she was quite certain M. Reyers had already been the music director for a decade. Now came to the question of who these two gentlemen were aside from being "junk dealers."

M. Lefevre simply laughed at the older man's orders and delivered his own with "Proceed!"

M. Reyers smiled and ordered them all back to their places shortly before Piangi's blunder. The two seemed just as friendly as ever. Ilona had not needed to move back as she already stood in place as she now held out her hands in praise of Hannibal's return.

"M. Reyers, our director of Music for more than 20 years." M. Lefevre whispered, quite loudly, as the music began once more.

Piangi sang his lines properly this time around, though the way his voice raised in such a mocking tone to M. Reyer's orders of "Rome" had many of her fellow Princesses of Carthage giggling to themselves as the tenor once again mocked the music director. The tenor took Carlotta's hand as the two moved to the front of the stage.

Ilona walked backstage slightly as the ballet began, the ballet rats proving to be a rather welcome distraction for the two new patrons as M. Lefevre continued to explain the various members of the opera cast and crew.

"Our ballet mistress Madame Giry!" M. Lefevre called as he attempted to kiss the hand of the stern ballet mistress, who promptly turned away and went back to focusing on her dancers.

M. Lefevre smiled at least by this snub. "I shall be truly glad to be rid of this whole business."

"So Monsieur?" One of the gentlemen asked. "Why exactly are you retiring?"

Was he retiring? But why would he wish to retire? He had been at the helms of the Paris Opera Company for nearly 15 years and now decided to leave? Had her father been such a strain on the man's health that he felt the need to escape? No, it was clearly that M. Lefevre was sick of dealing with the demands of a madman pretending to be a ghost and now wished to pass on the responsibility to some other fools.

M. Firmin and M. Andre, whichever one was which, seemed to be merely curious to be curious as she watched the M. Lefevre dodge the question of why was he retiring by trying to change the subject towards the focus of the ballet. As with all men and scantily clad girls, they were more than happy to accept this distraction to focus on the ballet girls and their dancing.

"Who is that fine dancer in front?" One of the gentlemen asked M. Lefevre with a smile on his face that left a little mystery to his desires for the daughter of the ballet mistress herself, Meg Giry.

Ilona had seen many a man fall for the ballet rats charms, sleeping with them was nearly second nature to the patrons. Most of the girls were little better than prostitutes really, the few she had met that were not actually focused on their dancing and music, instead of which rich man she could steal a purse from.

Patrons felt it was their right to sleep with any given member of the company so long as they paid them or showered them with gifts beforehand. She would admit to taking advantage of more than a few doltish men who as soon as they gave her the money she had complained of a headache or simply proclaimed she was unwilling to perform the deed without first a promise of marriage.

It was a humorous sight to see many of the younger men blush as she made the claim of marriage before sex, many of them quickly moving on to the next willing girl without even asking for their money or gifts back. Every girl old enough in the Palais Garnier did it, some were just more clever than others.

"Christine Daaé!" Madame Giry shouted, bringing Ilona's, as well as M. Lefevre and the two gentlemen's attention to the blonde haired girl's pathetic dancing.

"Daaé?" One of the men asked.

"Yes," M. Lefevre muttered, hardly interested in discussing the interests of a horrible ballet rat. "Swedish I think."

"Does she happen to be related to the violinist?" The other man asked.

"His daughter." M. Lefevre confirmed as the girl once more messed up the choreography. "Always has her head in the clouds I'm afraid. Perhaps you gentlemen can address that problem later?"

Though Ilona had only met the girl once, she was a kind heart, foolish yes, but she did not deserve to be fired for her poor dancing. She could easily be removed to the chorus with what voice she possessed. The girl obviously held a soprano voice, perhaps she could even go as far as to replace La Carlotta?

She nearly laughed at the thought, she thought back for a moment and realized this was the same girl that back several years to what the girl had sung like a dying frog in the children's choir alongside Ilona. She had been promptly given to Madame Giry for instruction after those few lessons, M. Reyers had nearly declared the poor girl tone deaf. But everyone changed, didn't they?

And she was far prettier than La Carlotta as well. Even if she possessed the voice of a frog she could not cause any more harm to the Opera House than that cow had done to them already.

The music sounded again as Ilona and the rest of the chorus began their song once more. "Hannibal's ride!"

Out came the elephant from behind the stage as Ilona made her move to display the false elephant to the crowd like a madam showing off her freshest girl. Her focus diverted for but a moment as Carlotta's shrill voice sounded and Piangi's explicit "Shit" as he failed to mount the false elephant on time.

Ilona's laughter was meet with the flowering gossip that soon gripped everyone on stage. Carlotta's voice soaring above all others as she ordered her entourage about the stage and criticized them for the mistakes of herself and of the tenor.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" M. Lefevre began shouting center-stage. "Ladies and Gentlemen if I could have your attention please!"

Madame Giry stomped her cane as clearly M. Lefevre had forgotten how to use his own, calling the company around to the manager and his apparent replacements. Ilona paid close attention as she watched the introduction of the new managers of the Palais Garnier.

"Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Jene-André," M. Lefevre introduced. "The new owners of the Palais Garnier."

The company clapped and cheered for the Opera Houses' new owners, the two men would certainly be taking over a special business from a man who had barely kept the opera ghost at bay for as long as the Palais Garnier had been open. The man had probably driven mad due to the ghost, or at least that was what some of the choruses whispered. A ballet rat even whispered that he was running off to be with his homosexual lover in Switzerland.

Ilona yawned as she listened to their banter, hardly paying mind to the two new managers as they were introduced to Carlotta and Piangi. The previous evening's rehearsals had not ended until half past nine and with the addition of her lessons with her father that evening she had not gone to bed until past midnight, only to be promptly woken up at eight by her father's shuffling about the lair.

He had said he was merely cleaning up, but the way his eyes were just so distant, hardly dilated really, proved to her that he was back on a drug. Cocaine it seemed was the likely culprit, as, by the time Nadir Khan had arrived for breakfast at nine that morning for breakfast with his friend and Ilona, her father had crashed and barely touched his breakfast.

Ilona had tried to comfort her father for whatever ailed him after the drug had worn off. He put her down as he did with Nadir, rather focusing on complaining that he was currently facing writer's block and need inspiration than answering the questions his own daughter had for him. It was always like this when he experienced a drug relapse.

If it was morphine she would soon find him sleeping for days on end or worse out torturing not only the ballet rats but general citizens of Paris, worst of all could be that he did something even more foolish. If it was cocaine she would not be seeing him very often for he would go on binges of composing and setting the work on fire before yelling at her to leave him as she scratched incessantly at his already thin skin.

Past attempts to keep her father sober had all failed with either a worse relapse than ones before, or another member of the crew of the Palais Garnier would be found hanging in the rafters.

"If I remember correctly," M. Andre? asked. "Elissa has a rather fine aria in Act III of Hannibal. Would you do us the honor of performing a private rendition for us Signora?"

Ilona's thoughts of worry were soon met with those of how to plug up her ears fast enough to avoid hearing this morning's rendition of "Think of Me." Each time La Carlotta sang the aria she did it in a different style, sometimes returning to the voice that had once enchanted audiences so long ago, and other times just screeching. If the diva could sing as she once did all the time there would be only complaints of her whining to deal with.

Ilona, herself, had been rather fond of La Carlotta during her later days in the children's chorus. When she had first joined the Paris Opera she had been a fresh face with a beautiful voice straight from Rome. She had been a pain to work with even then, but her voice more than made up for her diva tantrums. Now her voice had become shrill and her tantrums far worse.

"If my manager's command?" Carlotta smiled as she put on the act of a seductress.

The men readily agreed to please the diva, as well as to show their utmost support of the diva of the opera house. The music began and Ilona was rather shocked to find that Carlotta had once again begun to sing as she had once done, perhaps doing so just to entice the new managers? The way she wrapped the scarf around one of the new manager's and pulled it away just as fast was proof enough for Ilona.

She stood stage right, looking on with the other members of the chorus still on stage some of them engaged in quiet conversations, the rest like her watching the diva sing once again like she did during her great days. If she wished to enchant even the most hated of enemies back with her voice she could.

As the aria prepared to move into the third stanza of the libretto as scream sounded from one of the ballet girls as they all watched a background fall behind and push the diva forward, her ankles getting the most of the damage that a background could cause.

"The Phantom of the Opera is here!" One of the ballet rats shouted, prompting all the ballet girls to begin to shout in fear of the opera ghost and members of the chorus to go running from the stage.

Ilona looked up into the rafters of the stage to look for the opera ghost himself. He had said he was not interested in the production of Hannibal as a means to get La Carlotta replaced. She should have known better than to think he would leave it alone, especially with the disaster that was becoming Hannibal.

She saw nothing as she looked up, her eyes barely catching the swift of movement as she saw something white pass through the upper levels of the rafters. Picking up her skirts she followed off stage in the direction of what she hoped would be her father, confront him if he noticed her, or just look escape the screaming of her fellow company members.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" M. Lefevre and the two new managers shouted to the panicked crowd, hardly keeping them quiet but for a moment.

What they said next was lost to Ilona's ears as she walked the backstage area. Nothing was up above, nothing, he had vanished. If he wanted La Carlotta dead she would be dead. He's sending a message, now as to if this message would be an actual letter was another thing.

Her focus on the rafters was granted with a white envelope dropping from seemingly nowhere. Ilona rushing to the spot to collect the letter before anyone else got to it. Catching it before it could reach the floor Ilona felt the familiar parchment of her father, the fine white envelope embroidered in black with a death's head as the seal.

With little focus on anything else, Ilona went to break the seal, just as she got her finger beneath the somehow still warm wax a warm hand gripped her bare shoulder causing the contralto to nearly scream in fear of attack. The hand that gripped her soon grabbed her arm and twisted her to face them.

Madame Giry stood before her, the stern-faced woman looking at Ilona as if she were going to pull out the Punjab lasso herself at any moment. What she knew of the woman in relation to her father was that she was sort of his messenger, did Giry know of Ilona's relation to the opera ghost? It was obvious with the way she snatched the letter from her hand that she did not.

"It would be wise to mind your own business from now on Mademoiselle Roche," Madame Giry told her stonefaced as always, a hint of warning in her voice as she continued to seemingly draw the life force of Ilona out with her eyes. "Lest you wind up where all the other curious company members go."

Ilona merely nodded before racing back onto the stage, she understood very well why her father had chosen the woman as his messenger. She was not only a loyal woman, but she was nearly more frightening than any threat or crime her father could commit. As with that woman and always, Ilona would keep away.

"These things do happen?" Carlotta murmured as she mocked M. Firmin for trying to explain away the backdrop nearly crushing her ankle. "These things do happen! You've been here five minutes! What do you know? These things do happen... All the time! For the past five years, these things happen!"

Carlotta stands from her seat, Piangi coming to her assistance as she pointed her finger sharply at the new managers. She sounded as though she were genuinely going to begin to cry, not those false tears she used to sway attention towards her, actual tears, tears of fear. Ilona felt sympathy for the woman than as she began her accusations.

"Until you stop these things from happening!" Carlotta shouted, sounding back to her usual self. "No! And you!" She pointed to M. Lefevre. "You're as bad as them! Until you stop these things from happening! This thing does not happen!"

With a stomp of a foot, La Carlotta declared to her lover, "Orlando Andiamo!"

The two lovers left with their entourage falling swiftly behind them backstage and to rid their dressing rooms of their things. She imagined if the Carlotta was genius she would return to Italy and terrorize one of this many opera houses, though Ilona doubted strongly that she was a genius. Knowing that woman she would be back with a week, perhaps two?

"Well," M. Lefevre says with little more than a shrug of the shoulder towards the two new managers. "There is nothing more I can do to assist you. If you need me I will be in Frankfurt."

With not, even a goodbye to the rest of the cast M. Lefevre left. He did not bother to stay for a farewell party? Nor one last opening night? Had her father threatened him to leave? Or had he just chosen this moment because it was clear that the gentlemen who now owned the theater were stuck with the problem of opening night?

M. Firmin looked to the company as the gathered around him for advice, some of them looking on to where M. Lefevre had gone, others gossiping amongst themselves. She found herself looking for the new managers to hear what they planned. Her father would not have allowed fools to purchase the opera house would he? These men must have some sort of experience.

Did he even know that the opera house had been bought and sold? He had made no mention of it in their previous chats, he had said nothing last night after lessons either. He would have scared the men away before they had the chance to purchase the opera house had he known of fools running the Palais Garnier.

"La Carlotta will be back." M. Firmin prayed aloud to the rest of the company, his partner M. André looking already unsettled with the loss of their leading soprano on their first day.

"You think so MM?" Madame Giry called, pushing her way past several chorus members as she made her way through with the letter opened now. "I have a message, from the opera ghost."

"You're all obsessed!" M. André cried out as he began to look ever more like a frustrated mustached little boy.

Madame Giry began to waltz across the stage seemingly, in that voice that sounded as though she were genuine but in reality was mocking. "He merely welcomes you to his opera house. Commands that you leave box five empty for his use. And to remind you that his salary is due."

"His salary!" M. Firmin about shouted, taking the letter from the ballet mistresses hands.

These men had not been told anything. A wise move on the part of M. Lefevre, but a foolish one. These men could run the opera house into the ground if they did not abide by the opera ghost's wishes. She could only hope they lasted until the new year.

"Monsieur Lefevre used to give him 20,000 francs a month." Madame Giry began, once more just as sarcastic as ever. "Perhaps you cannot give me with the Vicomte DeChangey as your new patron."

A Vicomte as a new patron, Ilona had never heard of a DeChangey but what she knew of Vicomte's they had a certain taste of singers. She thought briefly of seducing the new patron at her next starring role, get him to give her all the things she desired without ever having to so much as kiss the man on the lips. Perhaps he would be handsome? Would he fall in love with her?

It was foolish, beyond foolish, but she imagined a young, handsome Vicomte that see her from a box and just fall in love with her from the moment he sees her. He would court her, take her with him across Europe, listen to her as she told him stories of the opera, listen to him as he gave her dashing recounts of his adventures abroad. They could be married, or at least she could be made a stable mistress? She was, even more, a fool if she was willing to be a mistress to a man she had never met.

She could imagine all she wished to, even when her childish thoughts dragged her away in her mind, she would have to come back to reality and realize she was a singer, and her place was on stage, not into the manor walls of some Vicomte's estate. She wondered at least if he would be here this evening to put a face to the imaginary man.

"Will the Vicomte be attending this evening's performance?" Madame Giry asked as if she had read Ilona's mind.

"He will be sitting with us in our box." M. Firmin said in response, giving Ilona her answer, while still shielding a vital piece of information from her, where their box was.

M. André pulled her aside to ask her who the understudy for La Carlotta was. Ilona nearly began to laugh there. Did he think, from even the five minutes he had known the woman, that La Carlotta would allow an understudy? The poor girl that wound up with that role would be found at an asylum within a week of that shrill voice forever shouting in her ears.

"There is no understudy!" M. Reyers shouted, his temperament usually delicate nearing its breaking point.

Ilona looked to her feet. The managers began to mutter amongst themselves. She heard them as they began talks of canceling the performance, on their first night as managers. There were enough sopranos in the chorus that could take over the role for La Carlotta, with the repetition of the choreography and opera hell even she could perform it.

Her voice would die if she even attempted it. Her father would have her hanging on the stage before she could even begin the opera. But she could dream. Dream of stepping out onto the stage in Elissa's Act III costume for think of me and dream that she could sing the aria in front of everyone. Sing it in a perfectly lithe soprano as the crowds cheered her name after her success.

Imagining the fame it would bring, imagine the wealth, imagine the men, and all she had was her imagination because it would never happen. Even as her thoughts turned sour she could always imagine it being her on stage as Elissa, or Marguerite, knowing very well that it would never be.

"Christine Daaé could sing it!" Meg Giry announced.

"The chorus girl?" M. André asked.

"She's been taking lessons from a great teacher!" Meg Giry continued, grabbing the other blonde girl by the arm and forcing her to stand in front of the managers.

"From whom?" M. André asked looking the least bit interested in the girl at the moment, his eyes wandering to other places on the two ballet rats bodies.

Daaé looked at the two new managers like a frightened little girl, doe eyes wide with fear as she kept opening and closing her mouth to speak. She couldn't help but for sympathy for the girl, even if she were brave enough to speak it was clear she was not for a whole opera. Imagina the poor girl freezing on stage before a crowd of hundreds and having the managers berate her every chance they got afterward.

If the girl was smart she would run off stage, if she was smart.

"I don't know Monsieur," Christine managed, her voice barely above that of a whisper.

With that, the two managers sighed and went back to their talk of canceling tonight's performance. Ilona looked on as a few of the ballet rats surrounded their frightened peer, offering her words of comfort it would seem as the poor girl was still visibly shaking.

"Let her sing for you MM!" Madame Giry said, more ordered really. "She has been well taught."

The managers looked at each other but for a moment before M. Firmin gave M. Reyers the order to allow the girl to sing. The girl, still shaking made her way to the front of the stage, her face turning towards the direction of her fellow ballet rats even as the music began.

"Think of me..." Christine whispered, barely audible. "Think of me fondly."

The girl's confidence seemed to grow as soon as Madame Giry beat her cane against the floor. Her voice soon enough was soaring, a beautiful, pure soprano, one that Ilona had not ever heard soon carried away the members of the company.

Ilona couldn't help herself but clap for the girl as she finished the first stanza with a little flare that only would prove to give her the role of Elissa. Even if it meant more rehearsal for her, she was nearly willing to stand and watch the ballet dancer sing the role of Elissa than to rest. She was truly a wonder this new girl, and to think she had thought the girl stupid but a few moments ago.

She could still be stupid. If this new girl did not do as her father commanded she could very well end up like M. Lefevre half-mad running away to Germany. With luck this Christine Daaé could become the new leading soprano, in fact, Ilona hoped she would. She would quite enjoy singing alongside the soprano as long as her own voice still remained the star amongst them.

"Half hour break!" M. Reyers' announced. "All of you are to be back here then! If not, then expect a dock in pay for each minute you are late!"

Ilona was more than happy to go back to her dressing room for the rest of the hour, but there was something about Christine that made her want to wonder around with her for a bit afterward. The poor girl was already being rushed off stage towards the costume department for refitting.

She followed the girl, wishing to offer congratulations even before the girl stepped out onto the stage once more. Ilona could earn a new friend out of this Daaé girl, both for her own career benefits and the girls. She could even offer Christine lessons, teach her her father's methods instead of whatever other teachers she had had her practicing. Offer friendship and expect rewards in return.

Besides, it would be nice to have a female companion around her own age, wouldn't it? One to gossip with? One to share her fears with, especially with a young woman like Christine that was so obviously easily frightened. One to even go on shopping excursions together? Perhaps even travel together? She hardly knew anything about Sweden. Perhaps she and Christine could visit over summer break?

Ilona smiled as she walked into the costume department's main room. She could have a friend.

"Mademoiselle Roche?" An assistant to an assistant costume designer approached her. "Do you need assistance?"

"No thank you," Ilona replied with a friendly smile still on her face as she walked past the assistant of an assistant towards where the ballet girl had been stripped to her corset and chemise for fitting.

The ballet girl, Meg Giry, was still with her, the girl talking to her friend about how well she had done and telling her to imagine the success that would soon follow. Christine, ever the shy girl, kept her head down with a smile still on her face.

"That was an amazing performance," Ilona interrupted the friendly banter, watching as the two girl's turned their attention to the heavily dressed star Contralto. "I don't believe I've ever heard a voice like yours, Christine. You will do so well tonight. I can already see your name in all the headlines for tomorrow morning's papers."

Christine blushed as the Giry girl looked on curiously, not cautiously as Ilona had feared, but curiously. It was clear the ballet rat loved her friend and wanted her to be safe from all forms of criticism, but perhaps she says that this was not one of those times to worry about malevolent threats.

"Thank you," Christine said at last as the costume mistress finally arrived to take her official measurements. "My father had always told me I was destined to be a great singer, but I had never believed him until just recently."

"Mine said so as well," Ilona added. "Your father would be proud of you. He will see you become the star of the Paris Opera overnight."

Christine smiled, even the skeptically Meg Giry smiled at the sentiment. "I wish only to please my father and my angel."

Her angel? What a queer thing to say. Ilona smiled nonetheless at the girl before bidding them farewell to return to the stage.


End file.
